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CALL NO. Cf%<l 3 ACC. NO. .9688? 

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Story of Che^er Lawrence 

Being the Completed Account of One 

who Played an Important Part in 

"Piney Ridge Cottage" 


Author of "Added Upon," "The Castle Builder, 
"Piney Ridge Cottage," etc. 


Salt Lake City. Utah 


Books by Nephi Anderson. 

ADDED UPON, Fifth and Enlarged Edition. 
A story illustrating "Mormon" teachings re- 
garding the past, the present, and the future 
states of existence. 

THE CASTLE BUILDER. Tfte scenes and 
characters are from Norway, the Land of the 
. M,"dnight Sun. 

MAViCUS .KING, MORMON, is the story of 
a con^■c^t to "Mormonism" who came to 
Utah in early pioneer days. 

PINEY RIDGE COTTAGE, the love story of 
a '"Jlormon" co.untry girl. 

CHURCH. The rtorj of the "Mormon" 
Church is told m simple, interesting chap- 
ters,. , 

41l\hound in beautiful cloth, with gold titles, 
Price, 75 cents each. 

Salt Lake City, Utah. 


Copyright 1913, by Nephi Anderson 

Story of Che^er Lawrence. 


It was raining when the ship was ready to sail; 
yet on the pier a large crowd of people stood under 
dripping umbrellas, waving and shouting farewells 
to their friends on board. The departing passen- 
gers, most of them protected by an upper deck, 
pressed four deep against the rail, and waved and 
shouted in return. 

The belated passenger, struggling with heavy 
hand baggage, scrambled up the gang-plank. The 
last visitors were hustled ashore; amid noise and 
bustle, the plank was drawn away, and the ship was 
clear. A tremor ran through the vessel as the pro- 
peller began to move, and soon there was a strip of 
water between the pier and the ship. Then a tiny 
tug-boat came alongside, fastened itself to the 
steamer, and with calm assurance, guided its big 
brother safely into the harbor and down the bay. 
The people on shore merged into one dark object; 
the greetings became indistinct ; the great city itself, 
back of the pier, melted into a gray mass as seen 
through the rain. 

Chester Lawrence stood on the deck of the depart- 
ing vessel and watched the interesting scene. He 


stood as one apart from the crowd, having no por- 
tion with either those on board or those left behind. 
He was a spectator only. Not a soul in that mass 
of humanity on the pier, not one in the big city, 
knew Chester Lawrence or had a thought for him. 
No one cared whether his voyage would be pleas- 
ant or otherwise. There were no tears for him, or 
fears that he would not return in safety. Of the 
hundreds of weaving handkerchiefs, none was meant 
for him; but as a last show of good-fellowship and 
as a farewell greeting to his native land, Chester 
waved once with the rest. 

The rain continued as the ship dropped down the 
bay and came safely into the open sea. Some of 
the passengers then hurried below, while others lin- 
gered on deck to see as long as possible the fast- 
receding land. Chester took his time. He had seen 
that his grips had been safely stowed away in his 
state room, so he had no worries, as others seemed 
to have, regarding his belongings. The ship hands 
(sailors they cannot now be called) were busy clear- 
ing the deck and getting things into their proper 
places. The vessel pointed fairly into the vast east- 
ern sea. The land became a dark, fast-thinning line 
on the western horizon, and then even that was 
swallowed up in the mist of rain. 

''Well, good-by, old home, good-by thou goodly 
Land of Joseph," spoke Chester, half aloud, as he 
stood for one intense moment facing the west, then 
turned to go down into his room. The rain must 
at last have reached him for his eyes were so 


blurred that he bumped rather abruptly into an 
elderly man who was standing at his elbow. 

''Oh, I beg your pardon," said Chester. 

"It was nothing, sir. I, too, was just bidding 
farewell to the Land of Joseph, and I fear my sight 
was also rather dim." 

Chester paused and looked at the man who had 
heard and repeated his remark. No one but a Lat- 
ter-day Saint would call America the Land of 
Joseph. He was a pleasant-looking man, with hair 
and beard tinged with gray, clear blue eyes, a firm 
mouth, about which at that moment there played a 
faint smile. Apparently, he wished to make further 
Lcquaintance with Chester, for he asked : 

''How far west were you looking just now?" 

The question went deeper than Chester thought 
possible. He colored a trifle, but there was no time 
to reply, for the other continued : 

"Mine was farther than that gray blot called New 
York, farther than the Alleghany mountains; in 
fact, it extended across the plains of the west to 
the Rocky Mountains — " 

"So was mine!" exclaimed the younger man. 
'Let's shake hands upon it. My name is Chester 
Lawrence, and I'm a Mormon." 

"My name is George Malby. 

"Elder George Malby?" 

"Yes; I am a Mormon elder going on a mission 
to Great Britain." 

"I'm mighty glad to meet you, Elder Malby. I 
thought there wasn't a soul on board this vessel that 


I could approach as a friend; now I have a brother." 

'Three of them," corrected the elder. ''There are 
two more missionaries on board. Not a large party 
of us this time. Would you like to meet them?" 

There was no more land to be seen now. The sea 
stretched all around, with clouds above, and the 
rain. There was more comfort below, so the two 
newly-made friends w^ent down. Chester met the 
other elders who were younger men, one destined 
for Scandinavia, the other for the Netherlands. It 
did not take long for the four men to become 
acquainted. Presently the dinner gong sounded, 
and all became interested in the first meal on ship- 

Practically every one sat down to that dinner, and 
did full justice to it. For many, that was the only 
meal eaten for days. Chester w^as not seated at the 
same table as his friends. At his right was a chatty 
old gentleman and at his left a demure lady who ate 
in silence. Strangeness, however, is soon worn off 
when a company of people must eat at the same 
table for a week; that is, if the dreaded sea-sickness 
does not interfere too much with the gathering to- 
gether at mieal-time. 

Towards evening the rain ceased. As the dark- 
ness came on, the clouds billowed across the vast 
upper expanse. Chester and his new-made friends 
paced the deck and watched the night settle on the 
water, and enclose the ship in its folds. They 
talked of the strange new experience on ship-board, 
then they told somewhat of each other's personal 


history. The sea was rough, and the ship pitched 
more and more as it met the swells of the Atlantic. 
The question of sea-sickness came up. 

'T have crossed the ocean three times," remarked 
Elder ^lalby, ''and escaped the sickness each time. 
I hope for as good luck now." 

'Tt is a matter of luck, I understand," said Ches- 
ter. "Sea-sickness is no respecter of persons, times, 
or so-called preventatives. The weak sometimes 
escape, while the strong are laid low. / feel all right 

The two younger men were fighting bravely, but 
it was not long before they excused themselves hur- 
riedly, and went below, and to bed. Chester and 
Elder Malby displayed splendid sea-legs, so they 
walked until they were tired, then took possession 
of some chairs in a sheltered corner, wrapping their 
coats well around them. 

'T wish I were going on a mission, as you are," 
Chester was saying. ''^ly trip is somewhat aimless, 
I fear. For a year or more I have had a notion 
that I ought to see Europe. I have seen a good 
deal of America, both East and West. I lived for 
some time in Salt Lake City, though I became a 
Church member in Chicago. But about Europe," he 
continued as if he did not then wish to speak of his 
Western experiences, ''you know, one must have 
seen somewhat of the Old World to have the proper 
'culture,' — must have seen Europe's pictures, old cas- 
tles, and historic places. I know little and care lesL 
about the culture, but I have always had a desire to 


see England, and some of France and Germany, and 
the Alps — yes, I want to see the Alps and compare 
them with our Rockies. Rome, and other Italian 
cities, are interesting, too, but I may not get to them 
this time. I do hope some good will come of all this 
— somehow I think it will not be wholly in vain." 

The older man let him talk without interruption. 
There was something uncommon in the life of this 
vouno; man, but it would not do to show undue haste 
in wishing to know it. It was easily to be seen that 
Chester was helped in this opportunity to talk to a 
friend that could understand and be trusted. They 
sat late that night. The sea roared about them in the 
darkness. There was a fascination about this thing 
of seeming life — the ship — forcing itself against 
wind and wave into the darkness, and bearing safely 
with it in light and comfort a thousand precious 

Chester slept fairly well, and was awake next 
morning at daylight. Though the ship was pitching 
and rocking, he felt no indications of sea-sickness. 
He gazed out of the port-hole at the racing waves. 
Some of them rose to his window, and he looked into 
a bank of green water. He got up and dressed. It 
was good to think he would not be sick. Very few 
were stirring. A number who were, like himself, im- 
mune, were briskly pacing the deck. Chester joined 
them and looked about. This surely must be a storm, 
thought he. He had often wished to witness one, 
from a safe position, of course, and here was one. 
As far as he could see in every direction, the ocean 


was one mass of rolling, seething water. At a dis- 
tance it looked like a boiling pot, but nearer the 
waves rose higher, the ship's prow cutting them like 
a knife. 

''Quite a storm." said Chester to a man washing 
the deck. 

"Storm? Oh, no, sir; just a bit of a blow." 

No one seemed to have any concern regarding the 
safety of the ship, so Chester concluded that there 
was no danger, that this was no storm at all, which 
conclusion w^as right, as he had later to acknowledge. 
The sun came up through a wild sea into a wild sky. 
casting patches of shifting light on the waters to the 
east. Chester kept a lookout for his friends, the 
elders. When the breakfast gong sounded, Elder 
Malby appeared. 

"Where are the others?" asked Chester. 

"They'll not get up today; perhaps not tomor- 
row. I see you are all right. You're lucky. Come, 
let us go to breakfast." 

Most of the seats were vacant at the table that 
morning. A few smilingly looked around, secure in 
their superior strength. Others were bravely trying 
to do the right thing by sitting down to a morning 
meal ; but a number of these failed, some leaving 
quietly and deliberately, others rushing away in un- 
ceremonial haste. Chester was quite alone on his 
side of the table. If there had been a trifle of "sink- 
ing emptiness" in him before, the meal braced him. 
up wonderfully. In this he thought he had discov- 
ered a sure cure for sea-sickness. One day later he 


imparted this information to a lady voyager, who 
received it v^^ith the exclamation, ''Oh, horrors!" 

All that day the wind was strong, and the sea 
rough. Even an officer acknowledged that if this 
weather kept up, the "blow" might grow into a 
storm. From the upper deck Chester and Elder 
Malby looked out on the sublime spectacle. Like 
great, green, white-crested hills, the waves raced 
along the vast expanse. Towards the afternoon the 
ship and the wind had shifted their course so that 
the waves dashed with thunderous roar against the 
iron sides of the vessel which only heaved and dipped 
and went steadily on its way. 

A number of ladies crowded on deck, and, aided 
by the stewards, were safely tucked into chairs in 
places protected from wind and spray. The deck 
stewards tempted them with broth, but they only 
sipped it indifferently. These same ladies, just the 
day before had carried their feather-tipped heads 
ever so stately. Now, alas, how had the mighty 
leveler laid them low! They did not now care how 
their gowns fitted, or whether their hats were on 
straight. Any common person, not afflicted with 
sea-sickness, could have criticised their attitude in 
the chairs. One became so indifferent to correct ap- 
pearances that she slid from her chair on to the deck, 
where she undignifiedly sprawled. The deck steward 
had to tuck her shawls about her and assist her to 
a more lady-like position. 

'That's pretty tough," remarked Chester.. 

''All the wits have tried their skill on the subject 


of sea-sickness," said his companion; but it's no joke 
to those who experience it." 

"Can't we help those ladies?" asked Chester. 

*'Not very much. You will find the best thing to 
do is to let them alone. They'll not thank you, not 
now, for any suggestion or proffer of help. If you 
should be so foolish as to ask them w^hat you could 
do for them, they would reply, if they replied at all, 
'Stop the ship for five minutes.' " 

''Then I'll be wise," said Chester. 

The night came on, dark and stormy. The two 
friends kept up well. They ate the evening meal 
with appetite, then went on deck again. 

Night adds aw fulness to the sublimity of a storm 
at sea. The world about the ship is in wild com- 
motion. The sky seems to have dropped into the 
sea, and now^ joins the roaring waves as they rush 
along. The blackness of the night is impenetrable, 
save as the lights from the ship gleam for an instant 
into the moving mass of water. Now and then a 
wave, rearing its crested head higher than the rest, 
breaks in spray upon the deck. The wind seems 
eager to hurl every movable object from the vessel, 
but as everything is fast, it must be content to shriek 
in the rigging and to sw^eep out into the darkness, 
and lend its madness to the sea and sky. 

But let us lease this awe-inspiring uproar and go 
down into the saloon. Here we come into another 
world, a world of light and peace and contentment. 
The drawn curtains exclude the sight of the angry 
elements without, and save for the gentle rocking of 


the ship and the occasional splashing of water 
against its sides, we can easily imagine that we are a 
thousand miles from the sea. Passengers sit at the 
long tables, reading or chatting. Other groups are 
playing cards or chess. In the cushioned corners, 
young men and maidens are exchanging banter with 
words and glances. A young lady is playing the 
piano, and over all this scene of life, and Hght, and 
gaiety, the electric lamps gleam in steady splendor. 

Elder Malby soon retired. Chester remained in 
the saloon for a time, studying the various aspects 
of life about him; then he made a good-night visit 
to the deck. He looked into the men's smoking 
room, where a few yet sat with pipes and beer, play- 
ing cards. Among them were two men, fat-cheeked, 
smoothly shaven, who were dressed in priestly garb. 
There was an expressive American in the company, 
an Englishman and a quiet German. Before the 
American could carry into effect his intention of 
asking Chester to join them, the latter had passed by 
and out beyond the stench of the tobacco smoke. 

''This air, washed clean by a thousand miles of 
scouring waves, is good enough for me," thought he. 

The wind was not blowing so hard. The sky was 
nearly clear of clouds. The moon hung full and 
bright above the heaving horizon. Here was an- 
other aspect of the wonderful sea, and Chester lin- 
gered to get its full beauty. The steamer rolled 
heavily between the big waves. The young man 
leaned on the railing, and watched the ship's deck 


dip nearly to the water, then heave back until the 
iron sides were exposed nearly to the keel. 

Chester was about to turn in for the night when 
he heard a commotion, apparently among the third 
class passengers. He walked along to where he 
could look down on the forward main deck. A num- 
ber of people were running about shouting excitedly. 
Chester ran down the steps to get a nearer view. 

"What's the matter?" he asked. 

'T don't know. Someone overboard, I think." 

People were crowding to the rail at the extreme 
forward end of the ship. Someone with authority 
was trying to push them back, using the old-fash- 
ioned ship-board language to aid him. Chester drew 
near enough not to be in the way, but so that he 
could observe what was going on. By leaning wxll 
over the rail, he could see what appeared to be two 
persons clinging to the anchor, which hung on the 
ship's side, about half-w^ay down to the water. One 
was a dark figure, the other appeared in the moon- 
light to be a woman dressed in white. Other ships- 
men now rushed up. 

"Clear way here! Where's the rope? Hang on, 
my man ; we'll soon get you" — this down the side of 
the ship. There came some words in reply, but 
Chester did not hear them. A rope was lowered. 
"Slip the loop around the lady," was the order from 
above. The man on the anchor tried to obey. He 
moved as if cautiously and slowly. "Hurry, my 
man!" But there was no haste. Limbs and fingers 
made stiff by long exposure and cramped position. 


clinging desperately to prevent himself and his bur- 
den from falling into the sea, were not now likely 
to be nimble; but in a few minutes, wdiich, however, 
seemed a long time, some words were spoken by the 
man on the anchor, the command to haul in was 
given, and slowly the nearly-unconscious form of a 
voung woman was drawn up to safety. 

''Now, my man, your next," shouted the officer. 
The rope soon dangled down again, the man reached 
out a hand for it. The ship cut into a big wave, 
whose crest touched the man below. He grasped 
wildly for the rope, missed it, and fell with a cry 
into the sea. Chester tried to see him as the ship 
rushed on, but the commotion and the darkness pre- 
vented him. 

"Man overboard! stop the ship!" came from the 
excited passengers. "Man overboard!" What 
could be done! The man was gone. He had not 
one chance in a thousand to be rescued. Had he 
fallen overboard without much notice, the ship would 
have gone right on — Why should a world be stopped 
in its even course to save one soul? — but too many 
had seen this. Signal bells were rung, the engines 
slowed down, and then stopped. Lights flashed here 
and there, other officers of higher rank came on the 
scene ; a boat fully manned was lowered. It bobbed 
up and down on the waves like a cork. Back into 
the track of the ship it went, and was soon lost to 

The search was continued for an hour, then given 


up. No trace of the man could be found. The 
small boat was raised to the deck, the engine moved 
again, and the big ship went on its way. 

Chester lingered among the steerage passengers 
and listened to the story of the lost man who, it 
seems, had been one of those unfortunate ones who 
had failed to pass the health inspector at New York 
and had therefore been sent back to his native land. 
Ireland. He was known as Mike, what else, no one 
could tell. And the woman? Poor girl, she had 
wandered in her night dress to the ship's side, and in 
some unknown way had gotten overboard as far as 
the protruding piece of iron. How Mike had reached 
her, or how long they had occupied their perilous 
position, no one could tell. He was gone, and the 
woman was saved to her husband and her baby. 

The night was growing late ; but there was no 
sleep for Chester. Many of the passengers, having 
been awakened by the stopping of the ship, were up, 
hurriedly dressed, and enquiring what the trouble 
was. Chester met Elder ]\Ialby in the companion- 

''What's the matter?" asked the Elder. 

"A man has been lost at sea," replied the other. 
''Come into the saloon, and Fll tell you about it." 

Chester was visibly affected as he related what he 
had seen. At the conclusion of his story he bowed 
his face into his hands for a moment. Then he 
looked into the Elder's face with a smile. 

"^^'ell, it's too bad, too bad," said George Malby. 


''Do you think so ?" 

''Well — why — isn't it a terrible thing to die like 


V^ — "I hope not," replied Chester. "I think the dying 

\ part was easy enough, and the manner of it was 

\ glorious. He was a poor fellow who had failed to 

land. He had no doubt thought to make fame and 

fortune in the new world. Now he has gone to a 

new world indeed. He entered it triumphantly, I 

hope. As far as I know, he ought to be received 

as a hero in that world to which he has gone." 

Chester's eyes shone and his face was aglow. 
"Elder Malby," he continued, "I remember what you 
told me just yesterday, — To our immortal soul, noth- 
ing that others can do, matters much ; a man's own 
actions is what counts. Neither does it matter much 
when or how a man leaves this life; the vital thing 
is what he has done and how he has done it up to 
the point of departure. The Lord will take care 
of the rest." 

As the two men went slowly along the narrow 
passage way to their state rooms that night, the older 
man said to the other, "I guess you're right, my 
brother ; yes ; you are right. Good night, and pleas- 
ant sleep." 


The next morning the sky was clear and the sea 
was much smoother. The sun shone bright and 
warm; more people came on deck, rejoicing that they 
could live in the vigor of the open rather than in 
their stuffy state rooms. The two seasick elders 
thought it wiser to remain quietly in their berths for 
another day, so Chester and Elder ^lalby had the 
day to themselves. As the accident of the night 
before became known to the passengers, it was the 
topic of conversation for some time. 

That afternoon Chester and his companion found 
a cosy corner on deck away from the cigar smoke; 
and had a long heart to heart talk. The fact of the 
matter w^as that the voung- man found comfort in 
the society of his older brother. For the first time 
in nearly two years Chester could pour out his heart 
to sympathetic ears, and he found much joy in doing 

"Yes," said Chester to a question, 'T should like 
to tell you about myself. \\'hen my story gets tire- 
some, call my attention to the porpoises, or declare 
that you can see a whale." 

"I promise," laughed the other. 

''\\'ell, to begin at the very beginning, I was born 
in a suburb of Chicago, and lived in and near that 
city most of my life. My mother's name was Anna 
Lawrence. I never knew iv^- father, not even his 


name. Yes, I can talk freely about it to you. The 
time was when I shunned even the thoughts of my 
earthly origin and my childhood days, but I have 
gotten over that. I have learned to face the world 
and all the truth it has for me. 

"When I was but a child, my mother married 
Hugh Elston. Shortly after, they both heard the 
gospel preached by a 'Mormon' elder, and they ac- 
cepted it. I had been placed in the care of some 
of my relatives, and when my mother now wished 
to take me, they would not give me up. They were, 
of course, fearful that I, too, would become a 'Mor- 
mon.' Mr. Elston and my mother went west to 
Utah. I was sent to school, obtained a fairly good 
education, and while yet a young man, was conduct- 
ing a successful business. 

"I had nearly forgotten that I had a parent at all, 
when one day, my mother, without announcement, 
came to Chicago. She had left her husband. Mother 
did not say much to any of us, but I took it for 
granted that she had been abused among the 'terrible 
Mormons.' After a time I took a trip out to Utah 
to see about it, meaning to find this Mr. Elston and 
compel him to do the right thing for my mother. 
Well, I went, I saw, and was conquered. Mr. Elston 
was a widower living in a spot of green called Piney 
Ridge Cottage amid the sage-brush desert, — living 
there alone with his daughter Julia. And this Julia 
— well — Do you see any porpoises, Brother 

"Not yet. Go on." 


"Mr. Elston is a fine, good-hearted man, — a gen- 
tleman in very deed. He soon found out who I was 
and invited me to his home. Juha was mistress 
there. In the midst of the desert, these two had 
created a beautiful home. I went to their Sunday 
School and their meetings. I read Mormon books. 
My eyes wxre opened to the truth, and I was ready 
to accept it." 

"Thanks to Julia," suggested the listener with a 
sly glance at Chester. 

"Yes; thanks to Julia. Brother Malby; but not 
in the sense you hint at. I think I would have ac- 
cepted the gospel, even had there been no Julia mixed 
up with the finding of it. But Julia helped. She 
was a living example of what 'Mormonism' can do 
for a person, and when I looked at her, learned her 
thoughts through her words, and saw her life by her 
every-day deeds, I said to myself, 'A system of re- 
ligion that produces such a soul, cannot be bad.' 
Yes ; she was a wonderful help ; but I repeat that 
had the truth come to me by other means and other 
ways, I believe I should have accepted it." 

"Forgive me for the thoughtless remark," said 
Elder Malby. 

"O, I know how justifiable you are for it, so you 
are forgiven." 

"Did you join the Church in Utah ?" 

"No ; I went back to Chicago. Away from 
Utah, from Piney Ridge Cottage and its influence. 
I pondered and prayed. I found the elders there and 
was baptized. Then I went to Salt Lake Citv, where 


Julia had gone to attend school while her father was 
away on a mission to England." Chester paused, 
looking out on the sea. ''You don't blame me for 
faUing in love with Julia, do you?" asked he. 

'T don't blame you a bit." 

''But there was someone else, a young fellow who 
had grown up as a neighbor to her. He also went 
on a mission, and then I believe Julia discovered 
that she thought more of Glen Curtis than of me. 
I do not now blame Julia for that. She told me 
plainly her feelings. I persisted for a time, but in 
vain — then I went away, and have never been to 
Utah since." 

"And that's the end of your story?" 

"Oh, no ; while I was roaming aimlessly about the 
country trying to mend a broken heart, mother, be- 
coming uneasy about me, and thinking I was yet in 
Utah, journeyed out west to find me. The team on 
the stage-coach which took her out to Julia's home, 
ran away from the drunken driver, and just before 
they got to Piney Ridge Cottage the wagon upset 
on a dug-way, and mother was mortally hurt. She 
died under Julia's care, and now lies in Mr. Elston's 
private graveyard near Piney Ridge Cottage beside 
Mr. Elston's other wife. Let us walk a little." 

The older man linked his arm into Chester's as 
they paced the long reach of the promenade deck. 
They walked for a few minutes, then sat down again. 

"I hope you'll not think I'm a bore, to continue 
my personal history; but there is something in here," 


said Chester, striking his breast, "that finds relief in 
expression to one who understands." 

"Goon; tell me all." 

"Do you know, I was tempted to 'chuck it all' 
after I had failed with Julia. I even went so far as 
to play devilishly near to sin, but thank the Lord, I 
came to my senses before I was overcome, and I 
escaped that horror. Oh, but I was storm-tossed for 
a while — I thought of it yesterday when we had 
the rough sea — but in time I came out into the calm 
again, just as we are coming today on this voyage. 
But not until I had said more than once 'not my will, 
but thine, O Lord, be done,' and said it from my 
heart, did I get peace. Then I began to see that the 
girl had come into my life, not to be my wife, but 
to turn my life into new channels. I, with the rest 
of the world of which I was a part, had no definite 
views or high ideals of life, death, 'and that vast 
forever;' and something was needed to change my 
easy-going course. When I realized that Julia 
Elston had been the instrument of the Lord in doing 
that, I had to put away resentment and acknowledge 
the hand of God in it. I read in the parables of our 
Lord that a certain merchantman had to sell all he 
had in order to get the purchase money to buy the 
Pearl of Great Price. Why should it be given me 
without cost?" 

"We all have to pay for it." 

"And I who had made no sacrifice, railed against 
fate because I had been asked to pay a trifle — no it 
was not a trifle : Init T have paid, and hope to con- 


tinue to pay to the last call. Now, what do you say, 
brother? Tell me what you think." 

"Well, you have an interesting story, my brother, 
and I am glad you look on your experiences in the 
right lightj To get the woman one thinks he ought 
to get, is, after all, not the whole of life. There are 
other blessings. To have one's life changed from 
darkness into light; to have one's journey turned 
from a downward course to one of eternal exalta- 
tion ; to obtain a knowledge of the plan of salvation, 
— these are important. If one is on the right way, 
and keeps on that way to the end. He who rules the 
world and the destinies of men, will see to it that all 
is right. Sometime, somewhere, every man and 
• every woman will come to his own, whether in life 
or death, in this world, or the next." 

''Thank you for saying that. Do you know, I am 
now glad that Julia did not yield to my entreaties, 
and marry me out of pity. Think how I would 
have felt when the realization of that had come to 
j^g **;!.* J found this expression of Stev- 
enson the other day, purporting to be a test of a 
man's fortitude and delicac}^: 'To renounce where 
that shall be necessary, and not to be embittered.' 
Thank the Lord, I am not embittered. Some time 
ago I chose this declaration of Paul for my motto : 
'But this one thing I do, forgetting those things 
which are behind, and reaching forth unto those 
things which are before, I press toward the mark 
of the prize of the high calling of God in Christ 
Jesus.' " 


The light of a soul of peace shone from the coun- 
tenance of the young man. The smile on the lips 
added only beauty to the strength of the face. He 
arose, shook himself as if to get rid of all past un- 
pleasantness and weakness, and faced the east as 
though he were meeting the world with new power. 
Then the smile changed to a merry laugh as he ran 
to the railing and cried : 

"See, sure enough, there is a school of porpoises !'* 

The ship was in mid-ocean. The rough weather 
had wholly ceased. The sea lay glinting like a vast 
jewel under the slant of the afternoon sun. It was 
a day of unflecked beauty. The decks were gay 
with people, some walking, some leaning idly on the 
rail, some sitting with books in their hands. A 
few were reading, but most sat with finger in closed 
book. W^'hy bother to read about life when it could 
be seen so full and interesting all around. 

A day on ship-board is longer than one on shore, 
and provision must be made to pass it pleasantly. 
If the weather is fair, this is quite a problem. Of 
course, there are the meals in the well-appointed din- 
ing saloon. They break pleasantly into the long 
monotony. Then there are the deck games ; the 
watching for "whales" and passing vessels : the look- 
ing at the spinning log in the foaming water at the 
stern ; the marking of the chart, which indicates the 
distance traversed during the twenty-four hours ; the 
visit to the steerage and the "stoke hole," or boiler 
room in the depths of the ship; and last, but not 


least, the getting acquainted with one's fellow pas- 
sengers. ''Steamer friendships" are easily made, and 
in most cases, soon forgotten. The little world of 
people speeding across the deep from shore to shore, 
is bound together closely for a few days, and then, 
its inhabitants scatter. 

Chester Lawrence was enjoying every hour of the 
voyage. On that day practically all sea-sickness had 
gone. The vacant places at the tables were being 
filled and the company looked around at each other 
with pleasant contentment. The steamship company 
no longer saved on the provisions. The chatty old 
gentleman at Chester's right was back again after 
a short absence, and the power of speech had come 
to the demure lady on his left, with the return of 
her appetite. 

Two places opposite Chester were still vacant at 
the table. That day as the crowd hastily answered 
the dinner gong, Chester, being a little tardy, en- 
countered an elderly man and what appeared to be 
his daughter making their way slowly down the 
companionway towards the dining room. Chester 
saw at a glance that neither of them was strong, but 
both tried to appear able and were bound to help 
each other. He smiled at their well-meaning en- 
deavors, then without asking leave, took the man's 
free arm and helped him down the steps, saying, 

"You haven't quite got your sea-legs yet — Now^ 
then, steady, and we'll soon be there. Get a good 
dinner, and that will help." 


The steward showed them to the two seats oppo- 
site Chester which had been vacant so long. 

''Thank you very much," said the girl to Chester, 
with a smile, when the elderly man was well seated. 
Chester bowed without replying, then went around 
the table to his own seat. 

Somehow that gracious little smile had made 
Chester's heart flutter for an instant. As he realized 
it, he said to himself, ''What's the matter with me? 
Am I getting foolish? It was, certainly a sweet 
smile, and the thanks were gracious, too; but what 
of it?" The first courses were being served. She 
was sitting opposite him, just a few feet away. He 
might take a good look at the girl to see if there was 
anything uncommon about her. He looked down 
the table, glancing just for an instant opposite. No ; 
there was nothing striking, or to be disturbed about. 
The girl was still solicitous over her companion, 
meanwhile eating a little herself. "I musn't be rude, 
thought Chester, and then looked again across the 
table. The man was past middle age. His face 
was clean shaven, and he was dressed in the garb 
of a minister. He was a preacher, then. The girl 
had evidently suffered much from sea-sickness, be- 
cause her face was pale and somewhat pinched, 
though there was a tinge of red in her cheeks. 
That's a pretty chin, and a lovely mouth — and, well, 
now, what is the matter ! Chester Lawrence, attend 
to vour chicken." 

The minister and his daughter did not remain for 
the dessert. As thev arose, he said : 


"Now, that's pretty good for the first time, isn't 

"Yes, father, it is," she replied. "You're getting 
on famously. Shall we try the deck for a while?" 

"Yes; it will do us both good to get into the air. 
Run along into your room for a wrap." 

Chester was tempted to leave his dinner to help 
them again; but he resisted the temptation. They 
walked quite firmly now, and as they entered the 
passageway, the girl glancing back into the room, 
met Chester's eyes and smiled once more. Again 
Chester's heart fluttered. It would have been a cold, 
hardened heart indeed not to have responded to such 
an appeal. 


On the morning of the fourth day out, Chester 
Lawrence stood watching the antics of a young man, 
who, coatless and hatless, and made brave by too 
many visits to the bar, was running up the rope 
ladders of the mast to a dangerous height. He 
climbed up to where the ladder met the one on the 
other side, down which he scrambled with the agility 
of a monkey. The ladies in the group on deck 
gasped in fright at his reckless daring. The fellow 
jumped to the deck from the rail, and made a sweep- 
ing bow to the spectators : 

^'Ladies and gentlemen," he said, '' 'tis nothing at 
all, I assure you. On shore I am a circus performer, 
an' I was just practicing a little. Have no fear. 

He was about to make a second exhibition when 
a ship's officer seized him, threatening to lock him 
up if he did not desist. 

''O, certainly, if its against the rules," he replied 
meekly. His hat and coat were lying on a chair by 
some ladies. He put these on again, and then sat 
down and began talking to the one nearest him. 
Chester, who had followed the fellow's capers with 
some interest, gave a start when he saw that the 
lady with whom the man was trying to carry on a 
conversation was the minister's daughter. She was 
visibly annoyed, and looked about as if for help. 


Chester thought her eyes fell on him, and without 
hesitation he determined to assist her. He went 
up to them, and without appearing to see the girl, 
reached out his hand to the man, saying : 

''Halloo Jack! Didn't know you were on board 
till I saw your capers just now. I want to talk to 
you a moment. Come along and have a drink first." 

The fellow stared at Chester and was about to 
deny any acquaintanceship with him, when the in- 
sistent manner of the greeting changed his mind. 
He excused himself to the lady, arose and followed. 
Chester took his arm as they walked along. 

"Which is your state-room?" asked Chester. 

"It's 340 ; but what you want to know for ? Aren't 
we going to have a drink?" 

"Not just now, my man. You're going to your 
room, and to bed. You got up too early. Listen," 
— as the sobering man began to resent the interfer- 
ence, — "there's an officer looking at us. He will do 
nothing: if you will go along quietly with me, but if 
you make a scene I'll hand you over to him." 

They found the man's room and he willingly went 
in and lay down. "Now," said Chester to him, "re- 
main below until you're sober. And don't bother 
that young lady again — do you hear. Don't you 
do it." 

Chester went on deck again, somewhat in wonder 
at his own conduct. He was not in the habit of 
interfering in other people's business, and never 
mixed with drunken affairs. But this surely was 
different. No man would have refused that appeal 



for help. Yes; he was sure she had pleaded with 
her eyes. Perhaps he ought to go back and receive 
her thanks, but he resisted that impulse. He walked 
to the extreme rear of the boat and stood looking 
at the broad white path which the ship was making 
in the green sea. He stood gazing for some time, 
then turned, and there sitting on a coil of rope was 
the girl who had been in his mind. She saw his con- 
fusion and smiled at it. 

"I — I came to thank you," she said: "but I did not 
like to disturb your meditations, so I sat down to 

"The sea has used you up quite badly, hasn't it?" 

"O no ; I was dreadfully ill before I came aboard. 
This trip is to make me well, so papa says." 

"I hope so." There was a pause, during which 
Chester found a seat on a bit of ship furniture. This 
girl's voice was like an echo from far-away Utah 
and Piney Ridge Cottage. And there was something 
about the shapely head now framed in wind-blown 
hair and the face itself that reminded him of someone 
else. Just how the resemblance came in he could 
not tell, but there it was. Perhaps, after all. it was 
just the look in her eyes and the spirit that accom- 
panied her actions and words that moved him. 

"Is that man a friend of yours?" she asked. 

"You mean that drunken fool? No; Tve never 
met him before." 

"That was just a ruse then — that invitation to 

'T had to do something, and that came first to 


''Then you didn't go and drink with him?" 

''Why no, of course not. I took him to his berth, 
and told him to stay there." 

"Do you think he will?" 

"Yes ; until he sobers up." 

"Well, I don't like drunken men." 

"Neither do I." 

"We're agreed on one thing then, aren't we?" 

Chester laughed with her. Elder Malby was 
pacing the deck, awaiting the call for breakfast; but 
Chester did not join him. 

"The man bothered me yesterday," she said, "and 
again last night. He wished to get acquainted, he 

"You don't know him, then?" 

"I've never seen him before. Papa has had to 
remain very quiet, and I haven't been around much. 
That fellow made me afraid." 

"Well, he'll not bother you again. If he does, let 
me know." 

"Thank you very much — " 

The call for breakfast came to them faintly, then 
grew louder as the beaten gong came up from below 
to the deck. 

"I must get papa and take him to breakfast. Let 
me thank you again, and good morning." 

He might have accompanied her down, but he 
just stood there watching her. Elder Malby came 
up. and the two went down together. 


The minister and his daughter got into their places 
more actively that morning. Chester wished heart- 
ily that his seat was not opposite. She was at too 
close range to allow of any careful observation. He 
could not very well help looking across the table, 
neither could she, although she had her father to 
talk to. Chester was really glad when breakfast 
was over that morning, and they all filed up to the 
sun-lit deck again. 

Had Chester been a smoker, he would no doubt 
have taken consolation in a pipe with the majority 
of the men; but as it was, he withdrew as much as 
possible from others that he might think matters 
over and get to a proper footing: for truth to tell. 
he was in danger of falling in love again, and that, 
he said to himself, would never do. He avoided 
even Elder Malby that morning; but to do so he 
had to go down to the main deck forward out to the 
prow. He went to the extreme point, where from 
behind the closed railing he could stand as a look-out 
into the eastern sea. Gently and slowly the vessel 
rose and fell as it plowed through the long, gleaming 

''What am I coming to," said Chester half-aloud 
as if the sea might hear and answer him. ''Here I 
am running away from one heart entanglement only 
to go plump into another. She is not Julia, of 
course, but she has Julia's twin soul. A perfect 
stranger, an acquaintance of two days ! The daugh- 
ter of a minister, a minister of the world!" What 
^v^as he thinking of? Who were they? He did not 


even know her name. She was not a well girl, that 
he could see. The roses in her cheeks were not alto- 
gether natural and her face was pale; but those red 
lips, and that smile when turned to him ! Well, the 
voyage was half over. Another four or five days 
and they would be in Liverpool, where they would 
go their different ways forever. He must keep away 
from her that long, seeing there was danger. No 
■more playing with the fire that burns so deep. And 
all this which he seemed to feel and fear, might be 
undreamed of by her and very likely was. A girl 
like that would not take seriously a ''steamer friend- 
ship.'' She was only doing what all young people 
do on such trips, making pleasant acquaintances with 
whom to pass aw^ay the monotonous days. ''Sure, 
sure," said he, as if to clinch the argument, but never- 
theless, deep within his soul there was an under- 
current of protest against such final conclusions. 

Chester tried to seek refuge in Elder ]\Ialby, but 
as he was not to be found, he opened up a conversa- 
tion with the missionary for Scandinavia. The mis- 
sionary was but a boy, it seemed to Chester. The 
going from home and the sea-sickness had had their 
effects, and the young fellow was glad to have some 
one to talk to. He came from Arizona, he told 
Chester; had lived on a ranch all his life; had never 
been twenty miles away from home before, — and 
now all this at once! It was "tough." 

"But I'm feeling fine now," he said. "Do you 
know, I've had a peculiar experience. All the way 
across the United States from home, something 


seemed to say to me, 'You can't stand this. You'll 
go crazy. You'd better go back home.' Of course, 
I was terribly homesick, and I guess that was the 
trouble. The cowardly part of me was trying to 
scare the better part. But all the time I seemed to 
hear 'You'll go crazy' until once or twice I thought 
I would. 

''Well, it was the same in New York, and the 
same when we came aboard. I didn't care muc\ 
one way or other while sea-sick, but when I got over 
it, there was the same taunting voice. At last I got 
downright angry and said, 'AH right, I'm going 
right on and fill my mission, and go crazy T From 
that moment I have ceased to be bothered, and am 
now feeling fine." 

"Good for you," said Chester. "You'll win out. 
I wish I was sure about myself." He went no 
further in explanation, however. 

Ship board etiquette does not require formal intro- 
ductions before extended conversations may be car- 
ried on. The New England school ma'am and the 
German professor were in a deep discussion ten min- 
utes after they had met for the first time. Many on 
the ship were going especially "to do Europe," so 
there were themes for conversation in common. 

As it happened, Chester was alone again that 
afternoon and he met the minister and his daughter 
on the promenade deck. They were taking their 
exercise moderately, pausing frequently to look at 
any trifling diversion. Chester tipped his cap at 
them as they passed. At the next meeting in the 


walk, the minister stopped and greeted the young 

"1 wish to thank you for your act of kindness to 
my daughter," he said. ''She has told me about it." 

'Tt was nothing, I assure you, sir," replied Ches- 
ter. 'T don't think the fellow will annoy her again." 

"I hope not. On these ocean voyages one is 
thrown so closely into all kinds of company. We, 
of course, must suppose all our fellow-passengers 
are respectable people, until we find out otherwise — 
but let us sit down. V\ here are our chairs, Lucy?" 

''They're on the other side, I believe, where we 
left them this morning." 

"It's a little too windy there." 

"I'll bring them around to you," said Chester. 
Lucy followed him, pointing out which of the chairs 
belonged to them. 

"May I not carry one?" she asked. 

"You do not appear strong enough to lift one." 

Chester carried the two chairs around to the side 
of the sheltered deck, then found a vacant chair for 
1-imself which he placed with the other two. 

"Thank you very much," said the minister, as they 
seated themselves. "The day is really fine, isn't it? 
After the sea-sickness, there is something glorious in 
a pleasant sea voyage. This is my third time across, 
but I don't remember just such a fine day as this. 
Are you a good sailor?" this to Chester. 

"I've not missed a meal yet, if that's any indica- 

"I envv vou. T have often wished T could be on 


deck in a bit of real bad weather. We had a little 
blow the other day, I understand, when that poor 
fellow lost his life." 

"Yes; I saw the accident," replied Chester; where- 
upon he had to relate the details to them. 

"Well, such is life — and death," was the minister's 
only comment on the story. 

The minister did most of the talking. Perhaps 
that was because he was used to it, having, as he 
told Chester, been a preacher for twenty-five years. 
The daughter commented briefly now and then, 
prompting his memory where it seemed to be weak. 
Chester listened with great interest to the man's ac- 
count of former trips to Europe and his description 
of famous places. The speaker's voice was pleasant 
and well-modulated. His clean-cut face lighted up 
under the inspiration of some vivid description. 
Chester found himself drawn to the man nearly as 
much as he had been to the daughter. 

"You're an American," announced the minister, 
turning to Chester. 


"A western American, too." . 

"Right again ; how can you tell ?" 

"Easily enough. How far west?" 

"My home is in Chicago." 

"Well, Lucy and I can beat you. We came from 
Kansas City. Ever been there?" 

"I've passed through twice." 

"Through the Union Depot only?" asked Lucy. 


"You must have received a very unpleasant impres- 
sion of our city." 

"Well, happily I did get away from that depot. 
I took a ride on the cars out to Independence, and 
I saw a good part of the city besides. It's beautiful 
out towards Swope Park — " 

"There's where we live," exclaimed the girl. "I 
think the park's just grand. I live in it nearlv all 

At this point of the conversation, a party to wind^ 
ward, among whom were the two Catholic Fathers, 
lighted their pipes, and the smoke streamed like from 
so many chimneys into the faces of those sitting 
near. The minister looked sharply towards the 
puffing men, while Lucy tried to push the denser 
clouds away with her hands; but no notice was 
taken of such gentle remonstrances. 

"I'll speak to them," suggested Chester. 

"No ; don't. It would only offend them," said the 
minister. "They think they are strictly within their 
rights, and it does not dawn on their nicotine poi- 
soned wits that they are taking ^way other peoples' 
rights, — that of breathing the uncontaminated air. 
We'll just move our chairs a bit," which they did. 

"You don't smoke, I take it," continued the cler- 
gyman, addressing Chester. 

"No; I quit two years ago." 

"Good for you. It's a vile habit, and I some- 
times think the worst effect smoking has on people 
is that it dulls the nice gentlemanlyness of a man's 
character. Now, those men over there, even the 


Catholic Fathers, are, no doubt gentlemen in all re- 
spects but one; it's a pity that the tobacco habit 
should make the one exception." 

Chester agreed in words, Lucy in looks. 

"You say you have passed through Kansas City," 
continued the father. "How far west have you 
been ?" 

"To the Pacific Coast." 

"Lucy and I should have made this trip westward, 
but the doctor said we must not cross the mountains, 
because of her heart. So an ocean voyage was ad- 

"And I did want so much to see the Rockies," 
added the young woman. "I have always had a 
longing to see our own mountains as well as those 
of Switzerland. Next summer we'll take that 
western trip." 

"I hope so, daughter." 

"I assure you they are worth seeing," said Ches- 

"No doubt about it. Lucy and I have planned it 
all for some day. Were you ever in Utah ?" 

"I lived for some time in Salt Lake City. Be sure 
to see that town on your trip." 

The minister looked somewhat queerly at Chester 
for a moment. Then his gaze swept out to the 
water again as if a momentary disturbing thought 
was gotten rid of. Lucy was interested. 

"Tell us about Salt Lake City, and, and the 'Mor- 
mons,' " pleaded she. 


"Never mind the 'Mormons,' Lucy," admonished 
her father. 

*Tt's difficult to speak of Utah and Salt Lake with- 
out mentioning the 'Mormons,' " added Chester. 

"Then let's talk of something else, something 
more pleasant." 

Evidently this minister was like all others, Chester 
concluded; sane and intelligent on all subjects but 
one, — the "Mormons." Well, he would set himself 
right before these two people, and do it now. 

"I can say," said Chester, "that my experience 
among the 'Mormon' people has been among the 
most pleasant of my life. In fact, I don't know 
where I can go to find a more honest, God-fearing, 
virtuous people. I — " 

"Young man," interrupted the clergyman, looking 
keenly at him, "are you a 'Mormon' ?" 

"Yes, sir; I have that honor." 

Lucy gave a cry, whether of alarm or gladness, 
the young man could not then tell. The minister 
arose slowly. "Lucy," he said, "let us walk a little 
more," and without another word the two resumed 
their promenade. 

But in Lucy's face there appeared concern. The 
tears, glittering in her eyes did not altogether hide 
the reassuring glance which she turned about to give 
Chester as he sat alone by the vacated chairs. 


The next day was Sunday. Even on ship-board 
there are some indications that the seventh day is 
different from the rest. There is always a Httle 
extra to the menu for dinner, and then religious 
services are also held ; and are not these two things 
frequently all that distinguish the Sabbath on the 
land ? 

That morning neither Lucy nor her father was 
at breakfast. Immediately after, Chester sought 
out the chief steward, and by insistency and the help 
of a small tip, he got his seat changed to the table 
occupied by Elder Malby and the two other mis- 
sionaries. "No one shall be annoyed by my near 
presence, if I can help it," Chester said. 

At the noon meal, the minister and his daughter 
appeared as usual. Chester watched them unob- 
served from his changed position. They looked at 
the vacant place opposite, but as far as Chester could 
determine, his absence was not discussed. 

That afternoon services were held in three parts 
of the vessel at the same time. On the steerage 
deck a large company of Irish Catholics surrounded 
the two Fathers. One of the priests stood in the 
center of the group while the people kneeled on the 
deck. The priest read something in Latin, the others 
repeating after him. Then a glass of ''holy water" 
was passed among them, the worshipers dipping 


their fingers in and devoutly crossing themselves. 
Chester watched the proceedings for a time, then 
he w^ent to the second class deck where a revival 
meeting was in progress. The preacher was deliv- 
ering the usual exhortation to ''come to Jesus/' 
while yet there was time. Presently, there came 
from the depths of the ship the sound of the dinner 
gong being slowly and solemnly beaten, no doubt 
to imitate, as nearly as possible, the peal of church 
bells. The steward who acted as bell ringer did his 
duty well, going into the halls and on to the decks, 
then disappearing again into the saloon. This was 
the official announcement to service. Chester and 
his friends followed. Quite a congregation had 
gathered. Two large pillows had been covered with 
a Union Jack to serve as a pulpit. A ship's officer 
then read the form prescribed for services on ship- 
board from the Church of England prayer book. It 
was all very dry and uninteresting, ''Verily a form 
of godliness" and a lot of "vain repetition," said 
Elder Malby. 

Then the minister — Chester's minister — arose. 
He had been asked, he said, to add a few words 
to the regular service, and he was pleased to do so. 
He called attention to the accident which had hap- 
pened on their voyage, and felt to say something on 
the providence of God, and His watch-care over 
His children. The preacher's voice was pleasant, 
the ministerial tone not being so pronounced as to 
make his speech unnatural. Chester listened atten- 


tively, as also did Lucy who, Chester observed, was 
sitting well up towards the front. 

"God is the source of the being of all men," said 
the preacher. ''He has brought us all into existence, 
and made us in His own likeness, and is a Father 
to us in fact and in feeling. He owns us and owns 
His responsibility for us. He cares for us and over- 
rules all things for our good. He is worthy of our 
love and confidence. Since we are His children, 
God desires us to be such in very deed — in fellowship 
and character, and is satisfied with us only as we 
are giving ourselves to the filial life. This relation- 
ship which we bear to God cannot be fully explained. 
There is a mystery in it beyond the understanding 
of finite minds ; but of this we are sure that the God 
of Creation has brought us all forth into being, and 
He will take care of us if we will let Him. \\'e can- 
not reasonablv and reverently think otherwise of 
Him. ' ' - 

'Ts it not a comfort to think that we cannot get 
away from the ever-present watchfulness of God? 
As the Psalmist puts it : '\\'hither shall I go from 
thy spirit, or whither shall I flee from thy presence ? 
If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there : if I make 
my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the 
wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost 
parts of the sea ; even there shall thy hand lead me. 
and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say. Surely 
the darkness shall cover me ; even the night shall be 
light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from 


thee ; but the night shineth as the day : the darkness 
and the Hght are both aHke to thee.' Yes, yes, my 
friends, 'God is our refuge and strength, a very 
present help in trouble. Therefore will not we 
fear—' " 

Somehow, what the minister said after that came 
very indistinctly to Chester Lawrence. He heard 
the words, but was aware only of a peculiar feeling, 
a dim perception of where he was and what he was 
hearing. There seemed to him to be a genuine feel- 
ing in the voice that uttered those beautiful words 
of scripture. They clung to his heart, and the min- 
ister himself became transfigured for an instant into 
some other being, — stern of countenance, yet loveli- 
ness in the depths of his soul, spiritually far away, 
yet heart yearning with nearness of love. Chester 
came fully to himself only when Elder Malby took 
his arm and together they paced a few turns around 
the deck. 

That same Sunday evening as Chester stood alone 
on the promenade deck watching the moonlight lay 
as a golden coverlet on the placid sea, his attention 
was attracted to the figure of a girl mounting the 
steps leading to the deck where he stood. She 
paused half way as if to rest, then came slowly up 
to where he was standing. Her breath came heav- 
ily, and she looked around to find a place to rest. 
Chester instinctively took her arm and led her to 
a deck chair. 

"O thank you," said Lucy, "I — niy heart both- 
ered me prett}^ badlv that time. T am forbidden 


to climb stairs, but I cc iildn't find you on the lower 

"Did you wish to see me?" asked Chester. 

''Yes ; I — you'll not think me over bold, will you, 
but I had to find you — won't you sit down here — I 
can't talk very loudly tonight." 

Chester drew a chair close to hers. A light wrap 
clung about her and the moonlight streamed on head 
and face. The young man, in the most matter-of- 
course-way adjusted the wrap to the girl's shoulders 
as he said : 

"You are not well, tonight." 

"Oh, I'm as well as usual — thank you." She 
smiled faintly. "Will you forgive us?" 

He was about to reply, "Forgive you for what?" 
but he checked himself. Somehow, he could not 
feign ignorance as to what she meant, neither could 
he use meaningless words to her. 

"Wq were very rude to you yesterday, both father 
and I ; and I wanted to make some explanations to 
you, so you would understand. I am so sorry." 

"You and your father are already forgiven. If 
there were a grain of ill-feeling against him this aftr 
ernoon, it all completely vanished when I heard him 
talk at the services." 

"You were tl^ere?" 

"Yes. Xow don't you worry." He was nearly 
to say "Little Sister;" but again he checked himself. 
"I am a 'Mormon,' " he continued. "I am not 
ashamed of it, because I know what it means. Onlv 
those who don't know despise the word." 


"Neither am I ashamed of it," she said as she 
looked him fairly in the face. *'I know a little — a 
very little — about the 'Mormons/ but that which I 
know is good." 

''What do you know?" 

"I'll tell you. One evening in Kansas City I 
stopped to listen to two young men preaching on the 
street. They were just boys, and they did not have 
the appearance of preachers. You must know that 
I have always been interested in religion, and re- 
ligious problems. Perhaps that is natural, seeing 
my father is a minister. I read his books, and 
many are the discussions I have had with him over 
points of doctrine, — and we don't always agree, 
either. He, however, usually took my little objec- 
tions good naturedly until one day he asked me 
where I had obtained a certain notion regarding bap- 
tism. In reply I handed him the booklet I had re- 
ceived at the 'Mormon' street meeting. He looked 
at it curiously for a moment, wanted to know where 
I had obtained it, then locked it up in his desk. He 
was really angry; as that was something he had 
never been before over any religious question, I was 
surprised and impressed. I had, however, read 
carefully the booklet. Not only that, but I had 
been secretly to one of the 'Mormon' services. I 
there learned that an acquaintance of mine belonged 
to the 'Mormon' Church, and depend upon it, I had 
her tell me what she knew." 

"And your father?" 

"He objected, of course. At first, I told him 
everything. He had always let me go to any and 


all religious gatherings without objection. He even 
laughingly told me I could don the Salvation lassie's 
bonnet and beat a drum in the street, if I wanted to ; 
but when it came to the 'Mormons,' O, he was angry. 
and forbade me from ever going to their meetings 
or reading their literature. I thought it strange." 

"It's not strange at all, — when you understand,'* 
remarked Chester, who was intensely interested in 
her story. 'T suppose you obeyed your father." 

"Well, now, you want me to tell you the truth, of 
course — I — I wasn't curious — " 

"Certainly not." 

"You're laughing at me. But I wasn't, I tell you. 
I was interested. There is something in 'Mormon- 
ism' that draws me to it. I don't know much about 
it, to be sure, for it seems that the subject always 
widens out to such immensity. I want you to tell 
me more about Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon 
and the new revelations." 

"But your father w^ill object. W'hat would he 
say if he knew you were sitting here in this beau- 
tiful moonlight talking to a 'Mormon' ?" 

"I'm of age, I guess. I'm doing nothing wrong, 
I hope." 

"I hope not. Far be it for me to harm you — or 
any living soul. But I don't know much about the 
gospel as we call it — for you must know it is the 
simple gospel of Jesus Christ revealed anew. There 
are three other 'Mormons' on board, missionaries 
going to Europe. One of them at least could tell 
vou much." 


"But I'd be pleased to hear you tell me — is, is that 
father? I wonder if he is looking for me." 

Chester looked in the direction indicated. A man 
came up, then passed on; it was not the minister. 
The girl crouched into the shadow, and as she did 
so her shoulder pressed against Chester's. Then 
she sprang up. 

''Well, I was foolish," she exclaimed, "to be afraid 
of dear old daddy!" 

Chester also arose, and the two walked to the 
railing. They stood there in the moonlight. Great 
clouds of black smoke poured from the ship's fun- 
nels, and streamed on to windward, casting a shadow 
on the white deck. They looked out to the water, 
stretching in every direction into the darkness. Then 
as if impelled by a common impulse, they looked at 
each other, then blushed, and lowered their eyes. 
The girl's hands lay on the railing. Chester saw 
their soft shapeliness, and noted also that there were 
no rings on them. 

"I'm glad I've met you," said Chester honestly. 

"And I'm glad, too," she breathed. "Some other 
time you must tell me so much. I've so many ques- 
tions to ask. You'll do that, won't you?" 

"Why do you ask?" 

"Now I must go to father. He may be uneasy. 
She held out her hand. "Good night — what do you 
think of me ? Am I a rude girl ?" 

"I heard your father call you Lucy. That's your 
name, isn't it?" 



"And I may call you that, may I not ? You know 
these ship-board acquaintances don't wait on cere- 

"But I don't know your name, either. Think of 
it, how we have been really confidential and we 
don't even know each other's name." 

"I know yours." 

"Only half of it. I've two more. How man> 
have you ?" 

"Only two." 

"And they are?" 

"Chester Lawrence." 

"Well, mine is Lucy May Strong — and now, 

He took her arm and helped her down the steps, 
gently, for she seemed such a frail being, one who 
needed just such stout arms as Chester's to lean 
upon. He risked the danger of meeting the father 
by helping her down the second flight of steps to 
the state-room deck. 

"Good night, Lucy." 

"Good nip-ht — Brother Lawrence." 



All Monday forenoon, Chester sat on deck read- 
ing a book which he had obtained from the ship's 
library. It was a most interesting story, and yet 
:3ie world of gray-green water and changing clouds 
drew his attention from the printed page. He was 
beginning to realize what the fascination for the sea 
was which took hold of men. It would have been 
difficult for him to analyze or explain this feeling, 
but it was there ; and it seemed to him that he would 
have been content to live out his life on that bound- 
less ocean which presented a symbol of eternity con- 
tinually before his eyes. 

"Good morning." 

Chester started, then turned. It was Lucy's father 
who found a chair and drew it up to Chester's. 

"Is the book interesting?" inquired the minister. 

"Not so interesting as this wonderful sea and 
sky," was the reply. 

"You are right," said the other, following the 
young man's gaze out to the distance. "Our uni- 
verse is now but water and air, and we are but specks 
floating between the two layers." 

"But we know that ocean and air are not all. We 
know there are plains and mountains, forests and 
growing fields ; so after all our universe must in- 
clude not only all we can see with our eyes, but all 
that comes within view of our comprehension. Do 


you know," resumed Chester after a pause. 'T have 
come to this conchision, that our universe is Hmitecl 
only within the bounds of our faith. As we believe, 
and strive to convert that belief into a living faith, 
so shall weknow and realize." 

The preacher looked keenly at the "^Mormon," as 
if he would see the fountain of these thoughts. 
Chester continued : 

''But you. as a minister of the gospel, understand 
all these things. However. I like to think about 
them and express them to those who will listen" — 
and as the minister was listening, the young man 
went on : 

'T reason it out this way : The Spirit of God — 
that is. His presence in influence and knowledge and 
powxr, as you so beautifully put it yesterday at the 
services, is everywhere in the universe. There is no 
place in heaven or hell, or in the uttermost bounds 
of space but God is there. As you also stated, we 
may not fully understand this infinite magnificence 
of God, but this has been done to help us : the Father 
has revealed Himself to us through his Son. The 
Son we can comprehend, for He was one of us. 
We learn from scripture that this Son had all power 
both in heaven and earth given him: that He was. 
in fact, 'heir of all things.' Now. when that fact 
is fixed in my mind, I connect this other with it, that 
we, God's children also, are joint heirs with Christ : 
and in fact, if we continue on in the way He trod, 
we shall be like Him. Now, then, what does this 
chain of argument lead us to? That we may follow 


in the footsteps of God, and where He has gone, or 
shall go, we may go. Think of it — no, we can't. 
Only for an instant can our minds dwell upon it, 
then we drop to the common level again, and here 
we are, a speck on the surface of the deep." 

"What is that book you are reading?" asked the 
minister. He had evidently also dropped to the 
"common level ;" or perhaps he had not soared with 
his companion. 

"This ? O, this is Kipling's 'Plain Tales from the 
Hills.' I like Kipling, but I wish he hadn't written 
some very untruthful things about my people." 

"Has he?" 

"Yes. It seems he made a flying visit through 
Salt Lake City, and took for gospel truth the lurid 
stories hack drivers tell to tourists so that they may 
get their money's worth." 

"Well, I don't know ; — but that brings me to the 
point of my errand. I sought you out especially 
today to ask you not to talk religion to my daugh- 
ter. I understand she and you had a discussion on 
'Mormonism' last evening, and she slept very little 
all night as a result." 

"You are mistaken, sir ; I said nothing to her 
about 'Mormonism.' She told me a little about — " 

"Well, whatever it v/as, she was and is still ill 
over it. Let me tell you, — and I am sure you will 
believe me, — my little girl is all I have. She has 
been ailing for years, heart trouble mostly, with 
complications. A comfortable voyage with no over- 
excitement might help, the doctors said ; and that's 


the main reason for this trip. She has always been 
interested in religious questions, which I naturally 
encouraged her in ; but when she got mixed up some- 
what with the 'Mormons,' that was quite another 

"Why, may I ask?" 

"Well, it excited her. It brought her in contact 
with undesirable people, people not of her class and 
standing — " 

"Like me, for instance." 

"I did not say that." 

"You inferred it. But pardon me. I would not, 
for the world, do anything that would unfavorably 
affect your daughter." 

"I knew you would look at the matter sensibly. 
Perhaps it would be for the best if you did not meet 
her oftener than possible. I know it is difficult on 
ship-board, but for her sake you might try." 

"For her sake, why certainly, I'll do anything — 
for I want to tell you, Mr. Strong, you have a good, 
sweet daughter." 

"I'm glad you think so." 

"And I think a whole lot of her, I may just as 
well tell you. Wq have met but a few times, but 
some souls soon understand each other." 

"What! You don't mean — !" 

"That we have been making love to each other,'' 
laughed Chester. "O, no; not that I know; but 
there is such a thing as true affinity of souls, never- 
theless, the affinity which draws by the Spirit of God. 


And so I say again plainly, that you may under- 
stand, I regard your daughter highly." 

''Young man, I thank you for your open manner 
and speech, but I beseech of you not to encourage 
any deeper feeling towards my daughter. She can 
never marry. She lives, as it were, on the brink of 
the grave. Now, I have been plain also with you." 

"I appreciate it, sir; believe me; I am profoundly 
sorry for her and for you; but, let me say this, 
seeing we are speaking plainly, if I loved your 
daughter, and we all knew she would die tomorrow, 
or next month, that knowledge would make only this 
difference, that my love would become all the holier. 
If she returned that love, we would be happy in 
knowing that in the life beyond we would go on and 
bring that love to a perfect consummation." 

The minister looked closely again at the young 
man. Then, giving voice to his thoughts, asked: 
''Have you studied for the ministry? Are you now 
a 'Mormon' missionary?" 

"I am not an authorized 'Mormon' missionary. 
My studying has been no more than is expected of 
every 'Mormon.' Every member of our Church is 
supposed to be able to give a reason for the hope 
that is within him, — and I think I can do that." 

"Do you live in Utah?" 

"No, sir; my home is in Chicago." 

"Chicago ! — well, I — are there 'Mormons' in Chi- 
cago ?" 

"A few, as I suppose there are a few in Kansas 


City. I joined the 'Mormon' Church in Chicago, 
but I was converted in Utah.'' 

"You have been to Utah, then?" 

"O, yes ; I spent some time there and got very 
well acquainted with the people ; and they are a good 
people, I tell you, sir. I know — " 

"Yes, well, Mr. — , Lucy did tell me your 

name, but I have forgotten it." 

"My name is Lawrence — Chester Lawrence." 

The minister had arisen as if about to go, but he 
now sat down again. Chester did not understand 
the strange twitching of the minister's lips or the 
pallor of his face. What had he said or done to 
agitate the man so much? 

"Chester Lawrence !" repeated Mr. Strong under 
his breath. 

"You have never met me before, have you ? Per- 
haps — " 

"No ; I have never met you before. No, no ; of 
course not. There was just something come over 
me. I'm not very well, and I suppose I — " 

He stopped, as if he lacked words. 

"May I get you anything, a drink of water?" sug- 
gested Chester. 

"No, no; it was nothing. Sit down again" — for 
Chester also had arisen — "and tell me some more 
about yourself. I am interested." 

"Well, my life has been very uneventful, and yet 
in a way, I have lived. As a boy in Chicago, I sui> 
pose, my young days passed as others; but it was 


when I went out west and met the 'Mormons' that 
things happened to me." 

"Yes, yes." 

*T don't mean that I had any adventures or nar- 
row escapes in a physical way. I lived in the moun- 
tains as a miner for a time, but there are no wild 
animals or Indians there now, so my adventures 
were those of the spirit, if I may use that expres- 
sion, — and of the heart. Isn't that your daughter 
coming this way?" 

Sure enough, Lucy had found them, and came up 
to them beaming. Chester failed to see in her any 
symptoms for the worse, as her father had indicated. 
In fact, there certainly was a spring to her step 
which he had not seen before. 

"Well, I've found you at last, you run-away papa. 
Good morning," she nodded to Chester, who re- 
turned the greeting. "Don't you know, papa, you 
have kept me waiting for half an hour or more to 
finish our game." 

"I'll go right now with you," said the father, 

"Well, I don't care so much now, whether it's 
finished or not. I believe someone else has it any- 

"Oh, we'll go and finish the game," persisted Mr. 

"Perhaps Mr. Lawrence will come along," sug- 
gested the girl, as it seemed very proper to do. 


''Not now, thank you," replied Chester. "I must 
finish my book before the lunch gong sounds." 

The minister took his daughter's arm and they 
went along the deck to where a group was laughing 
merrily over the defeat and victory in the games. 
Chester watched them mingle with the company, 
then he opened his book again ; but he did not com- 
plete his story at the time he had appointed. 

To those who can possess their souls in peace, life 
on ship-board in pleasant weather is restful, and may 
be thoroughly enjoyed. A little world is here com- 
pactly put together, and human nature may be 
studied at close range. From the elegant apart- 
ments of the saloon to the ill-smelling quarters of the 
steerage, there is variety enough. Representatives 
are here from nearly ''every nation under heaven :" 
every creed, every color ; every grade of intelligence 
and worldly position, from the prince who occupies 
exclusively the finest suite of rooms, to the begrimed 
half-naked stoker in the furnace room in the depths 
of the vessel ; every occupation ; every disposition. 
And yet, even in this compact city in a shell of steel, 
one may seclude himself from his fellows and com- 
mune solely with his own thoughts or his books. 

The three ''Mormon" elders, reticent and quiet, 
had made few acquaintances. The Rev. Mr. Strong 
and his daughter, not being very well, had not been 
active in the social proceedings of the ship's com- 

Chester Lawrence had formed an acquaintance 


which seemed to him to fill all requirements, so that 
he cared not whether he learned to know any more 
of his fellow travelers. And now further associa- 
tion with this pleasant acquaintance must stop. 
\\^ell, once again he said to himself, he would be 
glad at sight of Liverpool, and again some deeply 
hidden voice protested. 

Chester tried to keep his word with Mr. Strong. 
He made no efforts to see Lucy or talk with her, 
and he even evaded her as much as possible. This 
he could not wholly do without acting unmannerly. 
All were on deck during those beautiful days, and 
twice on Tuesday Lucy and Chester and the elders 
had played deck quoits, the father joining in one of 
them. Lucy beamed on Chester in her quiet way 
until she noted the change in his conduct towards 
her. The pained expression on the girl's face when 
she realized this change, went to Chester's heart and 
he could have cried out in explanation. 

That evening Lucy found Chester in a corner of 
the library pretending to read. There was no escape 
for him as she approached. What a sweet creature 
she was, open-hearted and unafraid ! His heart met 
her half way. 

''What is the matter with you. Brother Law- 
rence?" she asked. 

''There is nothing the matter with me." 

"Then what have / done?" She seated herself, 
and Chester laid his book on the table. He would 
be plain and open with this girl. In the end noth- 


ing is gained by mystery and silence. He told her 
plainly what had taken place between himself and 
her father. She listened quietly, the tears welling in 
her eyes as he progressed. Then for a moment she 
hid her face in her hands while she cried softly. 

*T shall not ask you to break your promise," she 
said at last, "but I did so want to learn more of the 
gospel — the true restored gospel. It isn't true that 
a discussion of these things affects me unfavorably. 
I am never so well as when I am hearing about and 
thinking of them. Perhaps father thinks so, how- 
ever; I shall not misjudge him." 

"So I shall keep my word," said he, "and if I keep 
it strictly, I should not now prolong my talk with 
you. But I have a way out of your trouble. You 
know Elder Malby. He is a wise man and knows 
the gospel much better than I. He will gladly talk 
to you." 

"Thank you. That's a good suggestion; but 
you — " 

"I shall have to be content to look from afar off. 
or perchance to listen in silence. Good night." 

And so it happened that the very next morning 
when the passengers were looking eagerly to the 
near approach to Queenstown, Lucy and Elder 
Malby were seen sitting on deck in earnest conver- 
sation. Chester promenaded at a distance with some 
envy in his heart ; but he kept away. For fully an 
hour the girl and the elderly missionary talked. 
Then the minister, coming on deck saw them. He, 
no doubt, thought she was well out of harm's way 


in such company, for he did not know Elder Malby. 
When he caught sight of Chester he went up to him, 
took him by the arm and fell into his stride. 

Their conversation began with the common ship- 
board topics. Then the minister asked his com- 
panion more about himself and his life. It seemed 
to Chester that he purposely led up to his personal 
affairs, and he wondered why. There were some 
parts of his history that he did not desire to talk 
about. What did this man wish to know ? 

''How long did you live in Utah?" asked the min- 
ister, after receiving little information about Ches- 
ter's birth and parentage. 

"Altogether, about a year." 

"And you hked it out there?" 

"Very much. The mountain air is fine ; and that 
is truly the land of opportunity." 

The two swung around the deck, keeping in step. 
Chester pressed his companion's arm close. They 
reached in their orbit the point nearest to Lucy and 
Elder Malby, then without stopping went on around. 

"I knew a man once by the name of Lawrence," 
said the minister. "I wonder if he could be related 
to you." 

Chester did not reply. 

"I don't know whether or not he ever went to 

"My parents were not with me in Utah. I went 
alone, after I was a grown man. My mother had 
lived there many years before, but had left. She 
lived in Chicago the latter part of her life; but she 


made a trip to Utah when she was old and feeble, — 
and she died there. * * * * fj^j. grave is 
there now." 

The minister now was silent. His lips twitched 
again. Chester once more wondered why such 
things should affect him. The man's arm clung to 
Chester firmly as if he wished support; and Chester's 
heart warmed to him. Was he not Lucy's father? 
Should he not know all he desired to know about the 
man who had expressed deep regard for his daugh- 

'T think you are tired," said Chester. "Let's sit 
here and rest." 

"Yes; all right." 

"The man Lawrence whom you knew was not my 
father," continued Chester. "That was my mother's 
maiden name. I don't know — I never knew my 
father; and shall I say. I have no wish to know a 
man who could treat my mother and his child the 
way he did. No ; much as I have longed to know a 
father's love and care, I cannot but despise a man 
who becomes a father, then shirks from the respon- 
sibility which follows — who leaves the burden and 
the disgrace which follow parenthood outside the 
marriage relation to the poor woman alone. Such 
baseness, such cowardice, such despicable littleness 
of soul ! — do you wonder why I don't want to know 
my father?" 

W^ell, he had done it. Lucy's father knew the 
truth of his dishonorable beginning. This highly 
cultured Christian minister was no doubt shocked 


into silence by his outburst of confidence. But he 
must know also that this occurred among a Christian 
community, long before either of the parties con- 
cerned knew of or were connected with the "Mor- 
mons." So Chester explained this to the man at 
his side, who sat as if deaf to what was being said. 
His gaze was fixed far out to sea. His lips did not 
now quiver, but the lines in his face were rigid. 

Chester beckoned to the daughter, and when she 
came, he said : 

"I think your father is not well. Perhaps he 
ought to go below and rest." 

"Father," cried the somewhat frightened girl, 
"what is it? Are you ill?" 

The father shook himself as if to be freed from 
some binding power, looked at Chester and then at 
Lucy, smiled faintly, and said : 

"Oh, Fm all right now, but perhaps I ought to 
rest a bit. Will you go down with me, Lucy?" 

The daughter took his arm and was about to lead 
him away. He stopped and turned again to Ches- 

"Excuse me," he said, "but what was your 
mother's full name?" 

"Anna Lawrence." 

"Thank you. All right, Lucy. Let's be going." 

Chester watched them disappear down the com- 
panionway, then looked out to sea at the black 
smoke made by a steamer crawling along the hor- 
izon, from Liverpool outward bound. 


A number of men and women were sitting on the 
promenade deck forward engaged in an earnest dis- 
cussion. Just as Chester Lawrence came up and 
paused to Hsten, for it seemed to be a pubHc, free- 
for-all affair, he noticed that Elder ^Malby was talk- 
ing, directing his remarks to a young man in the 

''What is your objective point?" the Elder asked. 
"What do you live and work for? \Miat is your 
philosophy of life by which you are guided and from 
which you draw courage, hope, and strength?" 

"Oh, I take the world as it comes to me day by 
day, trusfing to luck, or to the Lord, perhaps I had 
better say, for the future," replied the young fellow. 

"Wliat would you think of a captain of a vessel 
not knowing nor caring to know from what port 
he sailed or what port was his destination?. Who 
did not know the object of the voyage, knew noth- 
ing of how to meet the storms, the fog. the darkness 
of the sea?" 

"Well, I'm not the captain of a ship." 

"Yes, you are. You are the captain of your own 
soul, at least; and you may not know how many 
more souls are depending upon you for guidance in 
this voyage of life which we are all taking." 

"That's right — true," agreed a number of by- 


"Say, mister," suggested one, "tell us what you 
think of the propositions. You seem able to, all 

"Well," responded the elrler, "I don't want to 
preach a sermon that will bore you ; but if the ladies 
and gentlemen here are interested I shall be pleased 
to give my views." 

"Sure — go on," came from others. 

One or two found seats, as if they would rather 
sit through the ordeal, others following their ex- 
ample. "Yes; it's more conifortable," agreed Elder 
Alalby, as they drew their cliairs in a circle. Two 
people left, but two others came and took their 

"I hope we are all Christians," began the speaker, 
"at least so far that we believe the Scriptures ; other- 
wise my arguments will not appeal to you." 

A number acknowledged themselves to be Chris- 

"Then I may begin by saying that the purpose of 
this life-voyage of ours is that we might obtain the 
life eternal. This is life eternal' that we might 
know God and His Son Jesus Christ who was sent 
to us. If we know the Son we know the Father, 
for we are told that the Father has revealed Himself 
through the Son. This Son we know as Jesus 
Christ who was born into the world as we were. He 
had a body of flesh. He was like us. His brthren ; yet 
this Being, the Scriptures tell us, was in the 'form 
of God;' that He was the 'image of the invisible 
God;' that He was 'in the express image of His 


Father's person.' When Jesus lived on the earth, 
one of His disciples asked Him, 'Show us the 
Father.' 'He that hath seen me, hath seen the 
Father,' was the reply. T am the way. the truth, 
and the life ; no man cometh to the Father but by 
me.' " 

At this point the Rev. Mr. Strong and his daugh- 
ter came sauntering along the deck. They paused 
to listen, then accepted the chairs which Chester hur- 
riedly found for them. 

'T am not stating where in the Scriptures these 
quotations can be found," continued the elder, 
"though I shall be pleased to do so to any who wish 
to know. Well then, here we have a glorious truth : 
if we wish to know God, we are to study the Son. 
Jesus is the great Example, the Revealer of the 
Father. He is the Father's representative in form 
and in action. If Jesus, the Son, is meek and lowly, 
so also is the Father; if He is wise and good and 
forgiving, so is the Father ; if the Son is long-suffer- 
ing and slow to anger, yet not afraid to denounce 
sin and call to account the wicked, so likewise may 
we represent the Father. All the noble attributes 
which we find in the Son exist in perfectness in the 

"Picture this noble Son, the risen Redeemer, my 
friends, after His battle with death and His victory 
over the grave ! In the splendid glory of His divine 
manhood, all power both in heaven and earth m His 
hand. He stands as the shining figure of the ages. 
Whv? Because He is 'God With Us.' " 


There was perfect stillness in the group of lis- 

'Thus the Father has shown Himself to us. There 
is no need for any of us to plead ignorance of our 
Divine Parent. The way is marked out, the path, 
though at times difficult, is plain. The Son does the 
will of the Father. 'My Father worketh hitherto, 
and I work,' said Jesus. The Son can do nothing 
of Himself, but what He seeth the Father do; for 
what things soever He doeth, these also doeth the 
Son likewise.' We, then, are to follow Christ, as 
He follows the Father. Isn't that plain?" 

"Do I understand," asked one, "that you believe 
God to be in the form of man ?" 

"Rather that man is in the form of God, for 'God 
created man in His own image.' " 

"In His moral image only. God is a spirit. He 
is everywhere present, and therefore cannot have a 
body, such as you claim," objected one. 

"I claim nothing, my friend. I am only telling 
you what the Scriptures teach. They say nothing 
about a 'moral image.' What is a moral image? 
Can it have an existence outside and apart from a 
personality of form?" 

There was no immediate response to this. Some 
looked at the minister as if he ought to speak, but 
that person remained silent. 

"The attributes of God, as far as we know them, 
are easily put into words; but try to think of good- 
ness and mercy and love and long-suffering and wis- 


clom outside and apart from a conscious personality, 
an individual, if you please. Try it." 

Some appeared to be trying. 

''Pagan philosophers have largely taken from the 
world our true conception of God, and given to us 
one 'without body, parts, or passions.' The Father 
has been robbed of His glorious personality in the 
minds of men. Christ also has been spiritualized 
into an unthinkable nothingness. And so, to be 
consistent some have concluded that man also is 
non-existent; and it naturally follows that God and 
Christ and man, with the whole material universe, 
are relegated to the emptyness of a dream." 

'Tf God is in the form of man He cannot be every- 
where," suggested one of the ladies. "And that's 
not a pleasant thought." 

"Our friend here," continued the speaker, nodding 
to Mr. Strong, "quoted a passage in his splendid 
sermon last Sunday w^hich explains how God may 
be and is present in all His creations. Certainly 
God the Father cannot personally be in two places 
at the same time any more than God the Son could 
or can." The elder took a Bible from his pocket. 

"I had better read the passage. It is found in 
the 139th Psalm. David exclaims, 'Whither shall I 
go from thy spirit, or whither shall I flee from thy 
presence?' You will recall the rest of the passage. 
Is it not plain that the Lord is present by His Spirit 
always and everywhere. His Spirit sustains and 
controls and blesses all things throughout the im- 
mensity of space. Fear not, my friend, that that 


Spirit cannot be with you and bless you on sea or on 
land. We cannot get outside its working power any 
more than we can escape the Spirit of Christ now 
and here, even if His glorified body of flesh and 
bones now sits on the right hand of His Father in 
heaven where Stephen saw it." 

As is usual in all such discussions as this, some 
soon retire, others linger, eager not to miss a word. 
Lucy, you may be sure, was among those who re- 
mained. Her father also, sitting near to Chester, 
listened with deep interest. 

"Just one more thought," continued the ''Mor- 
mon" elder, ''in regard to this lady's fear that God 
may not be able to take care of all His children 
always and everywhere. God is essentially a Father 
— our Father. The fathering of God gives me great 
comfort. By fathering I mean that He has not only 
brought us into existence, but He has sent us forth, 
provides for us, watches over us. In our darkness 
He gives us light, in our weakness He lends us 
strength. He rebukes our wrong actions, and chas- 
tens us for our good. In fact, He fathers us to the 
end. Is it not a great comfort?" 

"It certainly is," said Lucy, unconscious to all 
else but the spirit of the Elder's words. 

"In this world," said the Elder, "the God-given 
power of creation is exercised unthoughtfully, uur 
wisely, and often wickedly. A good-for-nothing 
scamp may become a father in name; but he who 
attains to that holy title in fact, must do as God 
does, — must love, cherish, sustain and make sacri- 


fices for his child until his offspring becomes oUl 
enough and strong enough to stand for himself. — 
Don't you think so, Mr. Strong?" 

All eyes were turned to the minister who was ap- 
pealed to so directly. Had the reverend gentleman 
been listening, or had his thoughts been with his 
eyes, out to sea? His face was a study. But that 
was not to be wondered at. Was he not a dispenser 
of the W^ord himself, and had he not been listening 
to strange doctrine? However, he soon shifted his 
gaze from the horizon to his questioner. 

"Certainly, I agree with you," he replied. ''Father 
and fathering are distinct things. Happy the man 
who combines them in his life — happy, indeed." 

The afternoon was growing to a close. The sun 
sank into the western sea. The Elder, carried along 
by the awakened missionary spirit, continued his 
talk. He explained that the Father had by means 
of the Son pointed out the way of life, called the 
plan of salvation, or gospel of Jesus Christ. He 
spoke of faith, repentance, and baptism for the re- 
mission of sins; for. said the Elder to himself, 
even the minister has need of these things. 

Lucy drank eagerly the words of life. Her 
father sat unmoved, making no comment or objec- 
tion. He had never been one to wrangle over re- 
ligion; had prided himself, in fact, on being liberal 
and broad-minded ; so he would not dispute even 
though he could not altogether agree. The Elder's 
words came to him in a strange way. Had he heard 
all this before? If so, it had been in some long- 


forgotten past; and this man's discourse only awak- 
ened a faint remembrance as of a distant bell tolling 
across the hills. Away back in his youth, he must 
have heard something like this; or was it an echo 
of some pre-existent world — he had heard of such 
things before. Perhaps it was the man's tone of 
voice, his mannerism that recalled, in some way, 
some past impression. 

The Elder stopped. Lucy touched her father's 

"Father," she said, "I believe you are cold. I 
had better get your coat." 

The minister arose, as if stiffened in the joints 
by long sitting. He reached out his hand to the 
Elder. 'T have enjoyed your gospel talk," he said. 
"May I ask your name, and to what Church you 
belong, for evidently you are a preacher." 

"My name is George Malby, and I am an elder 
of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 
commonly known as 'Mormons.' " 

"A 'Mormon !' " a number of voices chorused. 

Some confusion followed, and the party broke up. 
Lucy, her father, and Chester, still lingered. 

"Father," said Lucy, "I had intended to introduce 
you to Elder Malby, but I wanted you to hear, un- 
prejudiced, what he had to say. What he has been 
teaching is 'Mormonism,' and you'll admit now that 
it is not at all bad. You never would listen nor 

"Lucy — that will do. Good evening, gentlemen. 
Come Lucy." 


Later that same evening when most of the pas- 
sengers had retired, the Rev. Mr. Strong came up 
on deck again. He took off his cap so that the 
breeze might blow unhindered through the thin, 
gray locks. He paced slowly the length of the 
promenade deck with hands behind his back and 
eyes alternatingly looking into the dark sky and to 
the deck at his feet. The old man's usual erect form 
was bent a little as he walked, his step broke occa- 
sionally from the rhythmatical tread. There was 
war in the minister's soul. Conflicting emotions 
fought desperately for ascendency. IMemories of 
the past mingled with the scenes of the present, and 
these became confused with the future. As a min- 
ister of the gospel for half a lifetime, he had never 
had quite such a wildly disordered mind. He 
wiped the perspiration from his brow. He groaned 
in spirit so that moans escaped from his lips. The 
sea was beautifully still, but rather would he have 
had it as wild and as boisterous as that which was 
within his heart. 

The man paused now and then at the rail. The 
Irish coast was not far away, and the lights of ships 
could be seen, westward bound. The minister tried 
to follow in his mind these little floating worlds ; 
but they were too slow. Like the lightning he 
crossed the Atlantic and then with the same speed 
flew half way across the American continent to a 
big, black, busy city roaring with the traffic of 
men. Then out a few miles to the college, where 
he as a young divinity student had spent some years 


of his early manhood — and there and then he had 
met her — Also, years later, the woman whom he 
had married — and at each big milestone in his jour- 
ney of life there had been ''Mormons" and "Mor- 

" 'Mormonism,' 'Mormonism,' " the man whis- 
pered hoarsely. ''Anna — Clara — Lucy — Chester — 
and now — and now what! O, my God!" 

It was nearly midnight when Lucy, becoming 
alarmed at her father's long absence from his state 
room, came slowly on deck, stopping now and then 
to rest. She saw him by the rail, went up to him, 
took him by the arm and with a few coaxing words 
led him down into his room. As he kissed her 
good-night with uncommon fervor, he looked into 
her upturned face and said : 

"Are you going to love this young man — Chester 
Lawrence ?" 

"Father," she cried, "what do you mean?" 

"Just what I say. I am not blind. I made him 
promise not to seek your company or talk religion 
to you. Tomorrow I shall relieve him from that 

"O, father!" 

"There now, child, — and Lucy, he may talk of 
religion and love all he wants. I think those two 
things, when they are of the right kind and properly 
blended, are good for the heart, don't you?" 

"Yes, thank you, dear daddy — we are so near 
England now that I may call you daddy." 

"Then good-night, my girl;" and he kissed her 
again in the doorway. 


But next morning there was no time to talk of 
either love or religion for Chester and Lucy. 

The coast of Ireland had been sighted earlier 
than had been expected, and there was the usual 
straining of eyes landward. Chester was among 
the first to see the dark points on the horizon which 
the seamen said was the Irish coast, and which as 
the vessel approached, expanded to green hills, 
dotted with whitened houses. This then was Eu- 
rope, old, historic Europe, land of our forefathers, 
land of the stories and the songs that have come 
down to us from the distant past. 

''Good morning. What do you think of Ireland?" 
Lucy touched his arm. 

"Oh, good morning. You are up early." 

"I am feeling so fine this morning that I had to 
get up and join in the cry of 'Land ho.' No mat- 
ter how pleasant an ocean voyage has been, we are 
always pleased to see the land. Besides, we get ofT 
at Queenstown." 

"What!" exclaimed Chester. "I thought you 
were bound for Liverpool?" 

"Yes, later ; but we are to visit some of our people 
in Ireland first. Papa has a brother in Cork. We 
intend to remain there a few days, then go on to 
Dublin, Liverpool, London, Paris, etc.. etc.," 
laughed the girl. 


Chester's heart sank. The separation was coming 
sooner than he had thought. Only a few more 
hours, and this little sun-kissed voyage would end. 
He looked at the girl by him; that action was not 
under embargo. Yes; she was uncommonly sweet 
that morning. Perhaps it was the Irish blood in her 
quickening at the nearness of the land of her fore- 
fathers. Cheeks and lips and ears were rosy red, 
and the breeze played with the somewhat disheveled 
hair. There was a press of people along the rail 
which caused Lucy's shoulders to snuggle closely to 
his side. Chester was silent. 

''Yes;" she went on, ''there's dear old Ireland. 
You see, this is my second visit, and it's like coming 
home. You go on to Liverpool, I understand." 

"I have a ticket to Liverpool," he said; "but I 
suppose they would let me off at Oueenstown, 
wouldn't they?" 

"Why, certainly — how fast we are nearing land. 
I'll have to go down now and awaken father. We 
haven't much time to get ready." 

He would have held her, had he dared. She was 
gone, and there were a hundred and one questions 
to ask her. She must not get away from him like 
this. He must know where they were going — get 
addresses by which to find them. He had no plans 
but what could be easily changed. Seeing Europe 
without Lucy Strong would be a dull, profitless ex- 
cursion. Chester's thoughts ran along this line, 
when Lucy appeared again. The color had left her 


''Father is very sick," she said to Chester. ''He 
seems in a stupor. I can't wake him. Will you 
find the doctor?" 

"ril get him," he said. "Don't worry. We'll be 
down immediately." 

Chester and the doctor found Lucy rubbing her 
father's hands and forehead, pleading softly for him 
to speak to her. The doctor after a hurried exam- 
ination, said there was nothing serious. A nervous 
break-down of some kind only — no organic trouble 
— would be all right again shortly. 

"But doctor, we get off at Queenstown," ex- 
plained Lucy. 

"W^ell, I think you can manage it. By the time 
you are ready to leave, he will be strong enough. 
This young man seems able to carry him ashore, if 
need be. Are you landing also," he asked of Ches- 

"Well— yes." 

Lucy looked at the young man, but said nothing. 
The doctor promised to bring some medicine, then 

"But Mr. Lawrence — " began Lucy. 

"ni listen to no objections," interrupted he. "I 
couldn't think for a moment of leaving you two in 
this condition. You're hardly able to lift a glass 
of water, and now you father's ill also. No; I am 
going with you. to be your body guard, your ser- 
vant. Listen ! Fm out to see the old world. I 
should very much like to begin with Queenstown 
and Cork." 


The father moved, opened his eyes, then sat up 
He passed his hand over his face, then looked at the 
two young people. 'Tt's all right," he muttered, 
then lay down again on the pillow. The doctor 
came with his medicine. There were now heard the 
noise of trunks being hoisted from the hold and the 
bustle of getting ready to leave the ship. 

"Father," said Lucy. "Wq must soon get ready 
to leave. Will you be able?" 

"Yes, yes, child" — it seemed difficult for the old 
man to speak. 

"And Chester — Mr. Lawrence — here is to go with 
us and help us." 

"Yes." He nodded as if it was easier to give 
assent in that way. 

"We'll make all things ready, daddy. Don't you 
worry. Rest as long as you can. It will be some 
time yet before you will need to get up." 

The sick man nodded again. 

"Fll remain here while you get ready," said Ches- 
ter. "Then you may attend while I do what little 
is necessary. Fll let my trunk go right on to Liver- 

Lucy hurried away and Chester sat down by the 
bed. As he smoothed out the coverlet, the minister 
reached out and took Chester's hand which he held 
in his own as if to get strength from it. There 
came into the old man's face an expression of con- 
tentment, but he did not try to talk. 

Lucy returned, and Chester hurried to his own 
room where he soon packed his few belongings and 


was ready. He found the elders on deck watching 
the approach to Queenstown, and explained to them 
what had happened to change somewhat his plans. 
"Fll surely hunt you up," he said to Elder Malby, 
''and visit with you;" and the Elder wished him 
God-speed and gave him his blessing. 

Slowly the big ship sailed into Queenstown har- 
bor, and then stopped. The anchor chains rattled, 
the big iron grasped the bottom, and the vessel was 
still. What a sensation to be once more at rest! 
Now out from the shore came a tender to take 
Queenstown passengers ashore. Small boats came 
alongside from which came shrill cries to those far 
above on deck. A small rope was thrown up which 
was caught and hauled in by the interested specta- 
tors. At the end of the small rope there dangled a 
heavier one, and at the end of that there was a loop 
into which a good-sized Irish woman slipped. 'TuU 
away," came from below, and half a dozen men re- 
sponded. Up came the woman, her feet climbing 
the sides of the steamer. With great good-nature 
the men pulled until the woman was on deck. Then 
she immediately let down the lighter rope to her 
companion in the small boat, where a basket was 
fastened and drawn up. From the basket came 
apples, or 'Veal Irish lace," or sticks of peculiar 
Irish woods, all of which found a ready sale among 
the passengers. 

From one of the lower decks of the steamer, a 
gang-way was pushed on to the raised deck plat- 
form of the tender, and even then the incline was 


quite steep. This bridge was well fastened by ropes, 
and then the passengers began to descend, while 
their heavier baggage was piled on the decks of the 

Lucy and her father soon appeared. Chester met 
them below and helped the sick man up, along 
the deck, and down the gang-way to the tender, 
where he found a seat. Lucy followed, stewards 
carrying their hand baggage. From their new 
position they looked up to the steamer. How big 
it was ! 

The day was beautifully warm. Well wrapped in 
his coat, the father rested easily, watching with some 
interest the busy scene around him. He being among 
the last to leave the liner, they were soon ready to be 
off. The gang-way was drawn in again, and the 
tender steamed away towards the inner harbor. The 
big ship weighed its anchor, then proceeded on its 
course to Liverpool, carrying away its little world 
of a week's acquaintance, to which Chester and Lucy 
waved farewell. 

Queenstown, in terraced ranks, now rose before 
them. The pier was soon reached, from which most 
of the travelers continued their journey by rail. 
The minister and his party, however, took passage 
again on a small boat for Cork. Everything being- 
new to Chester, and the father being quite unable to 
do anything, the initiative, at least, rested on Lucy. 
With Chester's help, she managed quite well. 

For an hour they sailed on the placid waters of 
the harbor and up into the river Lee. The wooded 


hills, on either hand, dotted with farm-houses and 
villas, presented a pleasing picture. The boat drew 
up to a landing at St. Patrick's Bridge, where Uncle 
Gilbert met them, greatly surprised and alarmed at 
his brother's condition. 

Carriages were waiting. Chester was introduced 
by Lucy in a way which led to the inference that he 
was a particular friend of the family picked up, 
perhaps, in their time of need. Bag and baggage 
was piled in besides them and they drove away 
through the streets of Cork and into the suburbs. 
Slowly the horse climbed the hill, but in a short time 
they were at Uncle Gilbert's home, one of the beau- 
tiful ones situated among the green of rolling hill- 
side and the deeper green of trees. 

There was another warm wxlcome by Aunt Sarah, 
who took immediate and personal charge of the sick 

"It's a break-down through overwork," she de- 
clared. ''You Americans live at such fever heat 
that it is no wonder you have no nerves. They're 
burned out of you. But it's rest only he wants, poor 
man; and here's where he'll get it. Don't you 
worry, Lucy." 

Aunt Sarah's masterful treatment of cases such 
as these took much care and anxiety from them all. 
Awav from the bustle and roar of hurrvino- hu- 
manity and traffic, resting amid the soothing green, 
and breathing the mild air of the country, the min- 
ister ought surely to get well again soon. 

He would not go to bed, but chose to sit in a 


big chair with a pillow under his head, looking out 
of the upstairs window which afforded a view of 
the town. The sun came in rather strongly during 
the afternoon and the father motioned Lucy to partly 
draw the blind. She did so, then drew a stool to 
his chair and seated herself near him. He placed 
his hands on her head, patted it caressingly, smiled 
at her, but said nothing. It was still difficult for 
him to speak. 

Presently, there came a light tap at the door. 
Lucy arose. It was Chester. 

"Excuse me," he said, "but the people below are 
somewhat confused over the trunks. I came to 

"Come in," said Lucy. "Let the 'confusion' 
continue for a little while. Come in to where there 
is peace. Father is feeling better, I am sure." 

The invalid turned towards the speakers, then 
with a movement of his head told them to come 
near. Lucy took her former position, while Chester 
drew up a chair. Yes; he did seem better, there 
being some color in his face to add life to his faint 

"Chester," he whispered with effort, as he reached 
out and took the young man's hand, "Chester — my 
boy — I — am — so — glad — you — came — with — us." 


While the father was resting quietly at Kildare 
Villa, as Uncle Gilbert's home was called, Chester 
and Lucy spent a few^ days in looking about. 

"Are there any sights worth seeing around here ?" 
asked Chester of Lucy. 

''Are there?" she replied in surprise. ''Did you 
ever hear of the Blarney Stone?" 

Yes; he had. 

"Well, that's not far away; and those were the 
Shandon bells you heard last evening, 

'The bells of Shandon, 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters of the river Lee,' " 

she quoted. 

The fact of the matter was that Chester was quite 
content to remain quietly with Lucy and her father 
and the other good people of the place. Traveling 
around the country would, without doubt, separate 
them, and that disaster would come soon enough, 
he thought; but when Lucy announced that she was 
ready for a "personally conducted tour to all points 
of interest," he readily agreed to be "conducted." 
She was well enough to do so, she said ; and in fact 
it did look as if health were coming to her again. 

The morning of the second day at Kildare Villa 


Chester and Lucy set out to see the town, riding in 
Aunt Sarah's car behind the pony. There had been 
a sprinkle of rain during the night, so the roads were 
pleasant. Lucy pointed out the places of interest, 
consulting occasionally a guide book. 

''While viewing the scenery, it is highly educa- 
tional to get the proper information," said Lucy as 
she opened her book. 'Tt states here that Cork is 
a city of 76,000 people. According to one authority 
it had a beginning in the seventh century. Think 
of that now, and compare its growth with that of 
Kansas City* for instance." 

'T have always associated this city with the small 
article used as stoppers for bottles," said Chester. 

"You thought perhaps the British needed a cork 
to stop up their harbor," said Lucy, gravely; "but 
you are entirely mistaken. The book says the name 
is a corruption of Corcach, meaning a marsh. The 
town has, however, long since overflowed the water, 
and now occupies not only a large island in the river, 
but reaches up the high banks on each side." 

They were evidently in Ireland. 

"A most noticeable peculiarity of Cork is its ab- 
solute want of uniformity, and the striking contrasts 
in the colors of the houses. The stone of which the 
houses in the northern suburb is built is of reddish 
brown, that on the south, of a cold gray tint. Some 
are constructed of red brick, some are sheathed in 
slate, some whitewashed; some reddened, some yel- 
lowed. Patrick may surely do as he likes with his 
own house. The most conspicuous steeple in the 


place, that of St. Ann, Shandon's, is actually red 
two sides and white the others, 

Tarti-colored, like the people. 

Red and white stands Shandon steeple,' 

and there it is before us," said Lucy. 

The tower loomed from a low, unpretentious 
church. The two visitors drove up the hill, stopped 
the horse while they looked at the tower and heard 
the bells strike the hour. 

''What Father Prout could see in such common- 
place things to inspire him to write his fine poem. I 
can not understand," said Lucy. "There is a 
peculiar jingle in his lines which stays with one. 
Listen : 

" 'With deep affectation and recollection 

I often think of the Shandon bells, 
\\'hose sounds so wild would, in days of childhood 

Fling round my cradle their magic spells — 
On this I ponder, where'er I wander, 

And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork of thee 
With thy bells of Shandon, 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters of the river Lee.' " 

Lucy read the four stanzas. 

"It's fine," agreed Chester; "and I think I can 
answer your question of a moment ago. Father 
Prout, as he says, listened to these bells in childhood 
days, those days when 'heaven lies about us' and 


glorifies even the most common places, and the im- 
pressions he then received remained with him." 

Lucy ''guessed" he v^as right. 

Then they drove by St. Fin Barre's cathedral, 
considered the most noteworthy and imposing build- 
ing in Cork. " Tt is thought probable the poet 
Spenser was married in the church which formerly 
stood on the site,' " Lucy read. '' 'His bride was a 
Cork lady, but of the country, not of the city. Spen- 
ser provokingly asks : 

" 'Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see 
So fayre a creature in your town before? 
Her goodlie eyes, like sapphyres shining bright ; 
Her forehead, ivory white. 
Her lips like cherries charming men to byte.' " 

"Well," remarked Chester as they drove home- 
ward, and he thought he was brave in doing so. "I 
don't know about the merchants' daughters of Cork, 
but I know a minister's daughter of Kansas City, 
Missouri, U. S. A., who tallies exactly with Spen- 
ser's description." 

"Why, Mr. Lawrence !" 

"I might say more," he persisted, "were it not for 
some foolish promises I made that same minister a 
few days ago — but here we are. Where shall we 
go after lunch?" 

"I thought we were to go to Blarney Castle." 
"Sure. I had forgotten. That's where the Blar- 
nev Stone is?" 


''Sure," repeated the girl mischievously. 

So that afternoon they set out. It was but a 
short distance by train through an interesting coun- 
try. Lucy was the guide again. 

''Do you have an Irish language?" asked Chester. 
'T heard some natives talking something I couldn't 

"Of course there's an Irish language," explained 
his fair instructor. "Anciently the Irish spoke the 
Gaelic, a branch of the Celtic. In this reign of Queen 
Elizabeth, the Irish language was forbidden. The 
English is now universal, but many still speak the 
Gaelic. In recent years there has been an awaken- 
ing of interest in the old tongue. 'One who knows 
Irish well,' an Irish historian claims, 'will readily 
master Latin, French, Spanish, Portuguese, and 
Italian;' and he adds that to the Irish-speaking peo- 
ple, the Irish language is 'rich, elegant, soul-stirring, 
and expressive.' " 

"I can well believe the latter statement when I 
remember the actions of those using it," said Ches- 

"Here we are," announced Lucy, as they alighted 
and walked to the entrance of the park. "It will 
cost us six pence to get in." 

Chester paid the man at the gate a shilling. The 
castle loomed high on the side of a hill, its big, 
square tower being about all that now remains of 
the ancient structure. A woman was in charge of 
the castle proper. 

"The stone that you kiss is away up to the top." 


explained Lucy. ''You will have to go up alone, 
as I dare not climb the stairs. I'll wait here. But 
stop a minute; the impressions will be more lasting 
if you get the proper information first. Here, 
we'll sit on this bench while I tell you about the 

Chester readily agreed to this. 

"To sentimental people," began the girl, as she 
looked straight at the high walls in front, ''Blarney 
Castle is the greatest object of interest in Southern 
Ireland; and, of course, the Blarney Stone is the 
center of attraction. It was built by Cormack Mc- 
Carthy about 1446. Of the siege of the castle by 
Cromwell's forces, under Irton, we have the follow- 
ing picturesque account in verse, which, I must say, 
has a Kipling-like ring." 

She opened her book and read : 

" 'It was now the poor boys of the castle looked over 

the wall, 
And they saw that ruffian, ould Cromwell, a-feeding 

on powder and ball, 
And the fellow that married his daughter, a-chawing 

grape-shot in his jaw, 
'Twas bowld I-ray-ton they called him, and he was 

his brother-in-law.' 

"The word 'Blarney' means pleasant, deludin' 
talk, said to have originated at the court of Queen 
Elizabeth. McCarthy, the then chieftain over the 
clan of that name who resided at Blarney, was re- 
peatedly asked to come in from 'off his keeping.' 


He was always promising with fair words and soft 
speech to do what was desired, but never could be 
got to come to the sticking point. The queen, it is 
told, when one of his speeches was brought to her, 
said: 'This is all Blarney; what he says, he never 

"Now, this is the reason for kissing the stone up 
there in the tower. Listen : 

" 'There is a stone there, whoever kisses, 

Oh ! he never misses to grow eloquent ; 
'Tis he may clamber to a lady's chamber, 

Or become a Member of Parliament. 
A clever spouter, he'll sure turn out, or 

An ''out — an' — outer" to be let alone; 
Don't hope to hinder him, or to bewilder him. 

Sure, he's a pilgrim from the Blarney Stone.' 

"Now, then, these are the facts in the case," con- 
cluded Lucy. "Proceed to do." 

Chester climbed the long stairs to the top. From 
the western edge, he looked down and waved at 
Lucy, then hurriedly scanned the beautiful prospect 
about him. The wonderful stone then drew his at- 
tention. It is set in the parapet wall, being one of 
the under stones in the middle of the tower. This 
parapet does not form part of the wall, but is de- 
tached from it. being built out about two feet and 
supported by a sort of scaffolding brace of masonry. 
This leaves a space between the battlement and the 
wall, which in olden times, enabled the defenders 
to drop stones and other trifles on to the heads of 


assailants one hundred twenty feet below. Two 
iron bands now reach around the famous stone, 
spanning the open space, and fastened to the wall. 
The aspirant who wishes to kiss the stone, must 
grasp these irons, one in each hand, and hang on 
for dear life. As the stone is underneath the par- 
apet, the feat of kissing it is not easy. In the first 
place, one must lie on one's back, then with head ex- 
tended over the wall, the head must be bent down 
and back far enough to touch the lips to the stone. 
To perform the feat safely, there must be assistants 
at hand who must hold one's legs in steady grip, 
and others who must sit on the lower part of the 
body to assure the proper equilibrium. 

Being entirely alone, it is needless to say, Chester 
did not kiss the Blarney Stone. He was satisfied 
with reaching under and touching it with his hand. 
Then he returned to Lucy. 

"You did not kiss the stone," she immediately 

''You know, don't you, that it takes two to kiss — 
the Blarney Stone?" 

"I've heard it so stated. I've never been up to it." 

The park around the castle is very inviting, espe- 
cially on a fine, warm afternoon. There are big 
trees, grass, and neatly kept walks. Chester and 
Lucy sauntered under the trees. A tiny brook gur- 
gled near by, the birds wxre singing. Lucy chat- 
tered merrily along, but Chester was not so talka- 
tive. She noticed his mood and asked why he was 
so silent. 


'T was thinking of that promise. I fear I am not 
doing right." 

"O, that reminds me — Father, of course could 

"Could not what?" 

"Well, the night before he became so ill on the 
boat he told me he was going to release you from 
any promise not to meet me and talk religion to 

"Did he say that?" They paused in their walk. 

"Yes; and he meant it — he means it now, if he 
could but say as much." 

"I thank you for telling me * * * Let us sit 
down here on this rustic seat. Do you know, I be- 
lieve your father has gotten over his first dislike for 

"O, yes, he has. I think he likes you very much." 

"I was not surprised at his actions when I told him 
I was a 'Mormon.' He can hardly be blamed, in 
view of the life-long training he has had. And 
then, knowing that you have been in danger from 
that source before made him over-sensitive on the 
point. I marvel now that he treats me so well." 

Lucy looked her happiness, rather than expressed 
it. The guide book lay open on her lap. Chester 
picked it up, looked at a picture of Blarney Castle, 
and then read aloud : 

" 'There's gravel walk there. 

For speculation. 

And conversation 
In sweet solitude. 


'Tis there the lover 

May hear the dove, or 
The gentle plover 

In the afternoon.' 

''Lucy," said Chester, as he closed the book, ''I'm 
going to call you Lucy — I can't call you Miss Strong 
in such a lovely place as this. We have an hour or 
two before we must return, and I want to talk over 
a few matters while we have the chance. In the 
first place, I want you to tell me where you are going 
when you leave Ireland. I want to keep track of 
you — I don't want to lose you. If your father 
would not object, I should like to travel along with 

''Father may remain here a long time, so long that 
we may not get to see much of Europe, and of course, 
you can't wait here for us." 

"Now listen, Lucy. You are Europe to me. I 
believe you are the whole world." 

She did not turn from him, though she looked 
down to the grass where the point of her sunshade 
now rested. Her face was diffused with color. 

"Forgive me for saying so much," he continued, 
"for I realize I am quite a stranger to you." 
"A stranger?" she asked. 

"Yes ; we have not known each other long. You 
don't know much about me." 

"I seem to have known you a long time," she 
said, looking up. "I often think I have met you 


before. Sometimes I imagine you look like the 
young missionary whom I first heard on the streets 
of Kansas City; but of course, that can't be." 

"No; I never was on a mission. But I'm glad 
you think of me as you do, for then you'll let me 
come and see you in London, in Paris and wherever 
you go. I assure you, it would be rather uninterest- 
ing sight-seeing without your presence, if not always 
in person, then in spirit. After all, much depends 
on the condition of the eyes with which one looks 
on an object whether it is interesting or not." 

Then the talk led to personal matters. He spoke 
of his experiences in Utah — some of them — and she 
told him her simple life's story. Her mother had 
died many years ago ; she had no very distinct recol- 
lection of her. She and her father had lived with 
housekeepers for many years. \\^hat with school 
and home, the one trip before to Europe, a number 
of excursions to various parts of her own country, 
her life had passed very smoothly and very quietly 
among her friends and books. As Chester listened 
to her he thought how like in some respects her story 
was to that of Julia Elston's. And as she sat there 
under the trees, she again looked like Julia, yet with 
a difference. Somehow the first girl had vanished 
but she had left behind in his heart a susceptibility to 
a form and face like this one beside him. Julia had 
come into his heart, not to dwell there, but to purify 
it, adorn it, and to make it ready for someone else ; — 
and that other person had come. She filled the 
sanctuary of his heart. Peace and love beyond the 


telling were inmates with her. Had he not come 
to his own at last. 

That afternoon, as he sat with Lucy under the 
trees at Blarney, listening to her story, told in sim- 
plicity with eyes alternating between smiles and tears, 
he felt so near heaven that his prayers went easily 
ahead of him to the throne of mercy and love, bear- 
ing a message of praise and gratitiude to the Giver 
of all good. 

These two were quite alone that afternoon. Even 
the care-taker went within the thick walls of the 
castle, remembering, perhaps, that she also had been 
young once. Birds may have eyes to see and ears 
to hear, but they tell nothing to humans. 

On the way back to Cork there was only one other 
passenger in the car, — an Irish girl carrying a basket 
in which were two white kittens. About half way 
to the city, the train stopped, and much to the trav- 
elers' surprise, a company of about two hundred 
Gordon Highlanders boarded the train, filling the 
cars completely. 

''What," asked Chester. "Have the Scotch in- 
vaded Ireland?" 

'T suppose it's a company just out for a bit of 
exercise," suggested Lucy. 

Their bare, brown legs, kilts and equipment were 
matters of much interest to Chester. When the train 
arrived in Cork, the soldiers formed, and with bag- 
pipes squeeling their loudest, they marched into St. 
Patrick's street. Chester and Lucy and the girl with 
the basket followed. 


"This is quite an honor," remarked Chester, "to 
have a company of soldiers come to meet us, and 
to be escorted into town by music Hke this. How 
did they know?" 

"Know what?'' escaped from Lucy before she dis- 
cerned his meaning. 

"Why, you silly man," she replied, "the honor is 
for the kittens!" 

Uncle Gilbert met them at the door. "Your 
father is sleeping — getting along fine," he explained. 
"Now then, young man, did you kiss the Blarney 

-W^hy— no— I— " 

"You didn't! You missed the greatest oppor- 
tunity in your life." 

"Oh. no, I didn't," replied Chester. "Far from 

Lucy, rosy red, fled past her teasing uncle into 
the house. 


A warm, gentle rain was falling. No regrets or 
complaints were heard at Kildare Villa, for, as 
Uncle Gilbert said, the farmers needed it, he and his 
people were comfortably housed, and the excursion- 
ists — meaning Chester and Lucy — would do well to 
remain quiet for a day. 

The minister had so far recovered that he walked 
unaided into the large living room, where a fire in 
the grate shed a genial warmth. Chester and Lucy 
were already there, she at the piano and he singing 
softly. At sight of her father, Lucy ran to him, 
helped him to a seat, then kissed him good morning. 

''How much better you are!" she said. 

''Yes; I am glad I am nearly myself again — 
thanks to Aunt Sarah," he said, as that good woman 
entered the room with pillows and footrest for the 
invalid, who was made quite comfortable. Then the 
aunt delivered him to the care of the two young 
people, with an admonition against drafts and loud 

"All right, daddy; now what can we do for you?" 
asked Lucy. 

"You were singing — when I came in. * * * 
Sing the song again." 

"But loud noises, you know." 

"Sing — softly," he replied. 


The two went back to the piano. Lucy played 
and both sang- in well modulated, subdued voices, 

"Jesus, I my cross have taken 

All to leave and follow Thee : 
Naked, poor, despised, forsaken. 

Thou, from hence my all shall be. 
Perish every fond ambition. 

All I've sought, or hoped, or known. 
Yet how rich is my condition. 

God and heaven are still my o^^'n.''' 

They sang the three stanzas. The two voices 
blended beautifully. The father asked them to sing 
the song again, which they did. Then they sang 
others, some of which were not familiar to the 

"Oh, how lovely was the morning. 
Brightly beamed the sun above." 

"What was that last song?" inquired the father. 

The two singers looked at each other as if they 
had been caught in some forbidden act. 

"Why" — hesitated Lucy, "that's a Sunday School 

"A ^Mormon' song?" 


"Sing — it again." he said as he lay back on his 
pillows, closed his eyes and listened. 

"Do you know any more — ^Mormon' songs ?" 

Lucv, of course, did not know manv. Chester 


managed "O, my Father," and one or two more 
Then Lucy closed the piano and went back to her 
fatlier, where she stood smoothing gently his gray 
hair. Thus they talked and read and sang a little 
more, while the rain fell gently without. 

'This is a beautiful country," said Chester, look- 
ing out of the window. 'T do not blame people who 
have money, desiring to live here." Lucy came to 
the window also, and they stood looking out on the 
rain-washed green. The father lay still in his chair, 
and presently he went to sleep. Chester and Lucy 
then retired to a corner, and carried on their con- 
versation in low tones. Faint noises from other 
parts of the house came to them. From without, 
only the occasional shrill whistle of a locomotive 
disturbed the silence. The fire burned low in the 

Suddenly, the father awoke with a start. 'T tell 
you he is my son," he said aloud. 'T am his father, 
and I ought to father him — my heart goes out — my 

"What is it, father?" cried Lucy, running to him, 
and putting her arm around his shoulders. 
The father looked about, fully awakened. 

'T was only dreaming." he explained. "Did I 
talk in my sleep?" 

Just then Uncle Gilbert came in. He announced 
that tomorrow he would of necessity have to leave 
for Liverpool. It would be a short trip only; he 
would be back in two or three days, during which 


all of them should continue to make themselves com- 

"George, here, is getting along famously," he de- 
clared. '*A few more days of absolute rest, and 
you'll be all right, eh, brother?" 

"I think so." 

Aunt Sarah now announced luncheon, and they 
all filed out of the room. 

That evening the two brothers were alone. 'T 
want to talk to you," the visitor had said; and his 
brother was willing that he should. Evidently, 
something weighed heavily on his mind, some im- 
aginary trouble, brought on by his weakened physical 

"Now, what is it, brother," said Gilbert as they sat 
comfortably in their room. 

"You know that in my younger days I had a little 
trouble" — began the minister, now speaking quite 

"I don't recall what you mean." 

"When I was studying for the ministry — a wom- 
an, you — " 

"O, yes ; I remember ; but what of it ? That's past 
and forgotten long ago." 

"Past, but not forgotten. I have tried to forget, 
the Lord knows, by long years of service in the min- 
istry. I hope the Lord has forgiven — but I forgot- 
ten, Oh, no." 

"Look here, brother, you are over-sensitive just 
now because of your physical condition. You have 


nothing to worry over. That Httle youthful indis- 
cretion — " 

"But there was a child, Gilbert, a boy." 

"Well, what of it?" 

"That was my boy. I am his father. What has 
become of him? Where is he now? Flesh of my 
flesh, is he handicapped by the stigma I placed upon 
him? Is he, perchance, groveling in the gutter, be- 
cause I cast him off — had no thought or care for 

"Now, look here — " 

"Listen. I became a father, then shirked the re- 
sponsibility of fatherhood. A new word rings in 
my ears, ^fathering." I can see its mighty import. 
I who have spoken the words of the great Father 
for these many years, have not followed His exam- 
ple. Listen, brother : if that son of mine is alive, and 
I believe he is, I am going to find and claim him — 
and not once more do I preach until I do." 

The brother was somewhat alarmed, showing it in 
his countenance. 

"You may think I am out of my head ; but I never 
was saner in my life. My thoughts are as clear as 
a bell, and now that I have said what I wanted to, 
I feel better. That's all — don't you worry about 
me. Now go to bed. You are to be off in the 
morning, you know. Good night." 

As Gilbert walked out, his mind not altogether 
clear about his brother, Lucy was at the door wait- 
ing to bid her father good night. 

"May I come in?" she asked. 


"Yes; come along." 

'*I wanted just to say good night. 

"That's right, my girl; and where is Chester?" 

"He — I don't know. I think he's retired." 

"You're looking so well, these days. Are you 

"Yes, daddy ; so happy — and so much better, I be- 

"All right — there now, good night. If Chester is 
without, tell him to come in a moment." 

She kissed him again, then slipped out. Pres- 
ently, Chester entered. 

"Did you wish to see me, ^Lr, Strong?" 

"Yes — that is, just to say good night — and to tell 

you that I am better — and also to thank you for 

taking such good care of Lucy." 
"Why, I assure you — " 

"W^ait a moment. Stand right where you are. 
there in that light — you'll excuse a sick man's 
humors, I know ; but someone told me today that 
we two look very much alike. I was just wonder- 
ing whether it was a fancy only — ^but I can't tell, 
nor you can't tell. It always takes a third person 
to say.'' 

"Yes; I suppose it does, laughed Chester. "But 
I don't object to the resemblance." 

"Nor I, my boy. Come here. Continue to take 
good care of Lucy. She's a good, sweet girl." The 
man arose, as if to be ofiF to bed. Chester put his 
arm around him. 


''Let me help you," said the young man. ''You 
are not very strong yet." 

"Thank you." He put his arm about Chester's 
neck so that the stronger man could nearly carry the 
weaker. As they walked slowly across the room 
under the lamps anyone could see a striking resem- 
blance between the two men. As they said good 
night and parted at the father's door, the older man's 
hand patted softly the young man's cheek. Chester 
felt the touch, so strange that it thrilled him. "That 
was for Lucy's sake," he said to himself as he sought 
the quietness of his own room. 

There were no apparent reasons why Chester 
Lawrence should not accompany Uncle Gilbert to 
Liverpool, so neither Chester nor Lucy tried to find 
any. Plans for meeting in London and on the con- 
tinent were fully matured and understood. The 
separation would be for a week or fortnight at most. 
Lucy and Aunt Sarah waved their goodbyes as the 
train drew out of Cork for Dublin. 

Chester now understood why Ireland was called 
the Emerald Isle. Green, green, everywhere — fields 
and hedges, trees and bushes, bogs and hills — every- 
thing was green. Uncle Gilbert gave him full in- 
formation on all points of interest. 

At Dublin they had a few hours to wait for the 
boat, so they looked around the city, not forgetting 
the beautiful Phoenix Park. It was evening when 
they went on board the steamer and to bed. Next 


morning, they were awakened by the rattling of 
cables and chains as they slid into a dock at Liver- 

Chester and Gilbert Strong parted company at 
Liverpool, the latter to attend to the business which 
had brought him there, the former to seek a place 
of lodging. First he found 42 Islington, the head- 
quarters of the mission, introduced himself to the 
elders in charge, and asked them to direct him to 
some cheap, but respectable lodgings. He was 
shown to a nearby hotel where the missionaries 
usually put up, where he obtained a room. Then 
he went to the steamship company's office at the 
pier, obtained his trunk, and had it taken to his 
lodgings. After a bath, a general clean-up and 
change of clothing, he was ready for the town, or 
all England for that matter. 

He went back to ''42" for further information. 
He noticed that the slum district of the town pressed 
closely on to the office quarters, and he saw some 
sights even that first afternoon which shocked him : 
dirty, ragged children, playing in the gutters ; boys 
and girls and women going in to dram shops and 
bringing out mugs of beer; men and women 
drunken. One sight specially horrified him-: a 
woman, dirty, naked shoulders and arms; feet«^nd 
legs bare : a filthy skirt and bodice open at the breast : 
hair matted and wild : reeling along the ipa^ euie^jt; 
crying out in drunken exclamations niid mutterings. 
Tt was the most sickening sight the youn-g man hari 



ever seen, and with perhaps the exception of a fight 
he witnessed some days later between two such char- 
acters, the worst spectacle of his life. 

All this sordid life so strange and new, drew the 
attention of the young westerner. Especially did 
42 IsHngton interest him; for this was an historic 
spot for ''Mormonism." From here the early mis- 
sionaries had sent forth the message of salvation to 
Great Britain, in fact, to the whole of Europe. Here 
within these dingy rooms had trod the strong, sturdy 
characters of the pioneer days of the Church. Per- 
haps in some of these rooms Orson Pratt had writ- 
ten his masterly presentation of the gospel. In 
those days, very likely, there were not so many 
noises of traffic and restless humanity. Perhaps 
such men could take with them the peace and sub- 
lime solitude of their home in the Western Moun- 
tains into the confusing din of the big city, and re- 
main undisturbed. And these were happy, even as 
the present elders were, laboring, with a clear con- 
science for the salvation of souls^ There came to 
Chester, as he thought of these things, an expression 
he had read: "Outside things cannot make you 
happy, unless they fit with something inside; and 
they are so few and so common that the smallest 
foorri can hold them." 
^ That' saoie evening there was a meeting of the 

\ Samts- which Chester attended. The congregation 
w^s small; much" smaller even than those of Chicago. 
Most -of 'the people present appeared to be of the 
humbler, working classes; but there was the same 


light in their faces as that which shone in faces on 
the other side of the world, when enlightened by the 
Spirit of God. Everywhere, Chester noticed, this 
Spirit was the same, giving to rich and poor, learned 
and unlearned alike, the joy of its presence. 

''Come around tomorrow, and we'll take a look 
about the city," said one of the elders to Chester. 
"Sitting cramped over a desk day after day, makes 
it necessary for me to get out once in a while." 

The afternoon of the following day, Chester 
called for his friend in the office, and they set out. 
'T want you to get rid of the first impressions of 
Liverpool," explained the elder. 'T want you to 
get away from the noise and dirt to the green and 
quiet and beauty of the town." 

First they took a car to the Botanical Gardens, 
looked at the flower beds and inspected the palm- 
house. Then they walked across the open to the 
farther side, followed a short street or two into the 
big, open grass-covered W^avertree Playground. 
Thence it was a short walk to Sefton Park with its 
varied and extensive beauties. They watched the 
children sail their toy crafts on the lake. There 
were some men even, trying out model boats. The 
bird cage was interesting. The grotto, as usual, 
was hard to find. The palm-house took a good part 
of their time, for the beautiful statue of Burn's 
Highland Mary, gleaming white from a bed of 
green, took Chester's attention, as also the historical 
figures surrounding the house. One of these was 
of Columbus with an inscription claiming that he 


had very much to do with the making of Liverpool, 
which is no doubt true. 

The weather was fine, the air was balmy; many 
people were out. Chester and his companion strolled 
about the walks and across the velvety stretches of 
g^rass. They watched for a time, a "gentlemanly 
game of cricket," but it was too slow altogether for 
the Americans. 

It was well towards sundown when the two young 
men took a car back to Islington. ''Another day 
we'll see Newsham Park, and the country around 
Knotty Ash way. Then again, there is some beau- 
tiful country up the Mersey and across to Birken- 
head." The visitor was grateful for these offers. 

That evening Chester addressed some post-cards 
to his few friends in Chicago, one to Hugh Elston, 
one to Elder Malby in London, and one to Lucy 
May Strong, Kildare Villa, Cork, Ireland. He 
lingered somewhat over this latter, lost somewhat 
in wonder at recent events. Was not this ocean trip 
and the Irish experience a dream? The noise and 
smoke about him were surely that of Chicago, and 
he was sitting in his room there in his normal con- 
dition of homelessness and friendlessness? Had he 
not that day been out with an elder from the Chi- 
cago Church office to Lincoln Park and the lake- 
side? Surely Lucy and the minister, and Kildare 
Villa and Blarney were figments of a pleasant 
dream ! Chester walked back and forth in the small 
room. He stopped before a dingy map of Great 
Britain on the wall. His finger touched Ireland, 


moved southward, and stopped at Cork. Yes ; there 
was such a place, any way, so there must be Shan- 
don Bells and the Blarney Stone, and a rustic seat 
under the trees at Blarney Castle. Well, if all else 
under the sun were imaginary, that hour of bliss at 
Blarney when Chester told Lucy he loved her, and 
Lucy told Chester the same swxet words — that was 
real. He would live in that reality, for it far sur- 
passed his dreams. 

Chester looked again at the post-card he had ad- 
dressed to Kildare Villa, placed it aside, and wrote 
in its place a long letter. 


Twenty miles out of London. The sun is shin- 
ing, and the train gHdes along by green fields, hedges 
of hawthorn, and blossoming trees. England looks 
to be the huge, well-cared-for farm of a very rich 
man. This may be explained by the fact that Eng- 
land is an old country, having been plowed and 
planted and harrowed for close on to a thousand 
years before America was discovered. This long 
period of cultivation gives the country-side a mel- 
lowness and well-groomed look. The vaporous 
sunlight softens all the outlines, hides the harsh 
features, and gives the landscape its dreamy, far- 
away, misty loveliness. There seems to be no angles 
in the scene; field melts into field, and hedge into 
hedge, with here and there a ribbon of a road which 
seems to join them rather than to separate, them. 
The houses are of brick or of stone, many partly 
hidden under the climbing ivy or roses. 

Chester Lawrence is accompanying Elder Malby 
eastward from London through Kent to Margate 
and Ramsgate on the coast. Elder Malby is to at- 
tend to some Church duties, and Chester, by invita- 
tion, was glad to accompany him. It was the young 
man's policy to keep in touch as much as possible 
with the elders and their work, and he was getting 
somewhat of the missionary spirit himself. He was 


greatly enjoying this ride through the beautiful 

"It's really wonderful," said Chester, looking out 
of the car window, "this coming from London into 
the country. Where are all the people? Are they 
all in town? Some cows are browsing in the 
pastures, and sheep scurry about as the train flies 
by, but where are the people who have made this 
great garden?" 

"You must remember," explained Chester's com- 
panion, "all this has not been done hurriedly by 
many people within a short time. What the Eng- 
lishman doesn't do today he can do tomorrow ; and 
so centuries of work by a few men has produced 
what we see." 

"Well, I do occasionally see a few slow-moving 
men and women, somberly clad in grays and browns. 
These, I suppose, are the sturdy supporters of their 

"Here is something I clipped from an American 
magazine," said Elder Malby, "which impressed me 
with its peculiar truth." He read: 

" 'England is London says one, England is Par- 
liament says another, England is the Empire says 
still another; but if I be not much mistaken, this 
stretch of green fields, these hills and valleys, these 
hedges and fruit trees, this soft landscape, is the 
England men love. In India and Canada, in their 
ships at sea, in their knots of soldiery all over the 
world, Englishmen must close their eyes at times, 
and when they do, they see these fields green and 



brown, these hedges dusted with the soft snow of 
blossoms, these houses hung with roses and ivy, and 
when the eyes open, they are moist with these mem- 
ories. The pioneer, the sailor, the soldier, the col- 
onist may fight, and struggle and suffer, and pro- 
claim his pride in his new home and possessions, but 
these are the love of a wife, of children, of friends ; 
that other is the love, with its touch of adoration, 
that is not less nor more, but still different, that 
mysterious mingling of care for, and awe of, the 
one who brought you into the world. 

" *This is the England, I take it, that makes one 
feel his duty to be his religion, and the England that 
every American comes to as to a shrine. When 
this is sunk in the sea, or trampled over by a host of 
invading Germans, or mauled into bankruptcy by 
pandering politicians and sour socialists, one of the 
most delightful spots in the whole world will have 
been lost, and no artist ever be able to paint such a 
picture again, for nowhere else is there just this 
texture of canvas, just this quality if pigment, just 
these fifteen centuries of atmosphere.' I think this 
sums it up nicely," commented Elder Malby. 

'Treland is a pretty fine country, too," said Ches- 
ter, with far-away tone, still gazing out of the win- 

Elder Malby laughed heartily, in which his com- 
panion joined. Chester had told him his Irish ex- 

Ramsgate is a pretty town on the east coast. It 
being Sunday, the shops were closed and the streets 


quiet. After some enquiries and searching, the 
local elder was found in the outskirts of the town. 
The two visitors were warmly received. A good 
old-fashioned English dinner was served, after 
which the few Saints living in the vicinity gathered 
for meeting. Never before had Chester Lawrence 
experienced the comforting Spirit of the Lord as in 
that service when he partook with those simple, open- 
minded people the sacrament, and listened to their 
testimonies, in which he mingled his own. 

After the services, there was the usual lingering 
to shake hands and exchange good words. In the 
midst of the confusion of voices and laughter, a 
large man appeared in the open doorway, and imme- 
diately there was a hush. It was the parish priest, 
round and sleek, yet stern of countenance. He 
looked about the room and found a good many of 
his neighbors present. 

"Well, good people," said he, "what are you doing 

The local elder explained civilly the purpose of 
the gathering. 

"But these men who are holding these services 
are 'Mormons,' and I come to warn you that they 
are wolves in sheep's clothing. Beware of them, 
let them alone," said the priest in rising accents. 

The people stood about the room, quietly listen- 
ing. Elder Malby and Chester were yet by the table 
which had served as a pulpit, and to them the priest 

"Are you the 'Mormon' elders?" he demanded. 


"We have that honor," serenely repHed Elder 

''You ought to be ashamed to come here to a 
Christian community with your vile doctrine. I 
warn you to keep away." 

''Will you be seated, sir ?" asked Elder Malby, who 
took charge of the situation. A number of people, 
who had evidently followed the priest to see the 
"fun," came in and gathered round. 

"I'll not sit down. I'll deliver my message to 
you all," he declared as he turned to the people. 
"You may not believe what I say about these men, 
that they are not what they pretend ; but let me read 
to you from an American paper — printed in their 
own land. Listen : 

" 'So fully apparent is the pernicious activity of 
"Mormonism" of late, that a general campaign of 
opposition is being urged against them in various 
parts of the country. It has been conclusively 
shown, by students of the question, that the "Mor- 
mon" Church is simply a great secret society, en- 
gaging in criminal practices under the cloak of their 
religion — " 

There was a hum of protest in the room. Elder 
Malby raised a hand of warning to let the intruder 

" 'The attitude of "Mormonism" towards moral 
questions and its disregard for the laws, have been 
shown again and again. "Mormon" missionaries 
are now making a systematic canvas of every state 
in the Union, as well as in Great Britain and other 


foreign countries. Every home, especially of the 
poor and uneducated is to be visited. It would 
therefore be the part of wisdom to give a timely 
word of warning. This is a time to cry aloud and 
spare not, lest many be led astray by these pernicious 
teachings.' " 

The minister followed up this reading by a stream 
of personal abuse against ^'Mormons" in general and 
Elder Malby — whose name he knew — in particular. 
Chester watched with keen interest the proceedings. 
Elder Malby's face was a study. The angry priest 
paused, then stopped. 

*'Are you through, sir ?" asked Elder Malby quiet- 
ly. There was no reply, so he continued. 'Tf you 
are, I wish to say a word. You are entirely mis- 
taken, my dear sir. I have not come here to mis- 
lead or to teach any such doctrine as you claim. 
True, I am now an American citizen, but I w^as born 
an Englishman. This is my native country, and I 
have as much right to be here as you have ; and, 
thank God, this country provides for free speech and 
allows every man to worship God according to the 
dictates of his conscience. I love this, my native 
land — I love these, my people. That's why I am 
here to preach to them the gospel of Jesus Christ." 

''You're a farmer, and not a minister," sneered 
the priest. 

"Peter was a fisherman and Paul was a tent- 
maker," replied the Elder calmly. 'T suppose, sir. 
that if either of these men came here to preach, you 
would look upon their occupation as a reproach." 


There was no reply, so the ''Mormon" continued. 
"It is true I am a farmer. Some of my friends here 
know that, because sometimes I assist them in the 
fields. And I have given them some helpful Amer- 
ican hints too, have I not. Brother Naylor?" 

''Aye, that you have." 

'Religion is not a thing apart from daily life," 
said Elder Malby, speaking more to the listening 
people than to the priest. "A truly religious person 
works with hands and brains as well as prays with 
lips and heart. Let me tell you, good people, the 
'Mormons' have shown to the world that heart and 
hand, faith and works must go together. A re- 
ligion which withdraws itself apart from the com- 
mon people into seclusions of prayer and contempla- 
tion alone is of no value in this world. The activi- 
ties of this life and this world is the proper field for 
religion, for it is here that we prepare for a future 
life. The "Mormon" minister can plow, if he is a 
farmer, as well as preach. He digs canals, makes 
roads through the wilderness, provides work and 
play for those who look to him for guidance. Again, 
let me call your attention to something the ''Mor- 
mon" preacher does : he preaches for the love of 
\ the souls of men, and not for a salary." 
^ — "You're a tramp," said the priest. 

"Not exactly, my friend," replied the Elder, look- 
ing into the priest's face. "I pay my way, from 
money earned at home on my farm. Most of the 
people here know me, but some are strangers. Let 
me tell you, briefly, my story." 


''Go on," some one near the door shouted. 

'T was born a few miles from here. My parents 
were very poor, but honest and respectable. I had 
a longing to go to America, so by dint of long, hard 
work and saving, I obtained the passage money. 
On the way I became acquainted with the ']^Ior- 
mons.' I knew they were the people of God, and I 
went with them to the West, which was a new coun- 
try then. I was a pioneer. I took up wild, un- 
broken land, built me a cabin and made me a farm. 
It was hard work, but, the exhilaration of working 
for one's self gives courage and strength. Now I 
have a good farm, and a good house. I am not rich 
in worldly wealth. We must still economize care- 
fully. Here — would you like to see my home in 

He took from his pocket a photograph and handed 
it to the nearest person, who passed it on. "That 
house I built with my own hands, most of it. Those 
trees I planted. I made the fence and dug the water 
ditch. That's my wife standing by the gate — yes, 
the only one I have, or ever had — that's my young- 
est child on the porch, the only one at home now. 
The others have married and have homes of their 
own. Here, I remember, I received a letter from 
my wife yesterday. \\^ould you like to read it, 
sir?" addressing the priest who was now preparing 
to leave. 

"The letter will prove that I am not a tramp, sir. 
Read it aloud to these people." The Elder held the 
letter in his extended hand. 


"I'll have nothing further to do with you. I 
don't want to read your letter," retorted the priest. 

''Read it, read it," came from a number; but the 
priest, unheedingly passed out of the door and down 
the path. The gate clicked. 

'T'U read it," volunteered a man, one of the 
strangers who had come in later. He took the let- 
ter, and read so that all might hear, which was not 
difficult in that quieted room : 

" 'Dear George : By this time I suppose you are 
in Old England again, and have fairly started in 
your missionary work. We received your card from 
Chicago and your letter from New York. I hope 
you had a pleasant voyage across the ocean, and 
were not seasick. 

'' 'We are all well at home, only a bit lonesome, 
of course. Janie misses you very much. She 
hardly knows what to do with herself in the even- 
ing. I was over to George's last night, and when 
I came in the door the baby cried "grandpa" before 
she saw who it was. The little thing looks all 
around and can't understand why you don't come. 
Lizzie's baby has the measles, but is getting along 

" 'I drove around by the field from meeting last 
Sunday. The wheat is growing fine. The Bishop 
said it was the finest stand he had ever seen. George 
and Henry are now working on the ditch, and they 
said they'd work out your assessment while they 
were about it. We have had a good deal of rain 

" 'I spoke to Brother Jenson about those two 


steers. He said prices were low at present and 
advised me to wait a little while before selling them. 
If you need the money very soon, of course I'll tell 
him to take them next time he calls. My eggs and 
butter help us out wonderfully, as we two don't 
require much. The Sunday eggs, you know, go 
towards the meeting house fund, and Janie claims 
the "Saturday crop." She needs a new school 
dress which Lizzie has promised to make. 

" 'Now, that's about all the news. I hope your 
health will continue good and that you are enjoying 
your mission. Don't worry about us. The Lord 
will provide. We want to do our part in sending 
the gospel to those who have it not. Our faith and 
prayers are always with you. 

" 'Your loving wife, 

" 'Jane Malby. 
T. S. I forgot to tell you that the Jersey cow 
you bought from Brother Jones has had twin calves, 
both heifers. Isn't that fine ? J. M.' " 

The reader folded the letter and handed it back to 
its owner. The postscript saved the situation, for 
the wet eyes found relief in the merry laugh which 
it brought forth. 

(C c- 


On Chester's return to London, he found the fol- 
lowing note from Lucy : 

"We're all coming — father and Uncle Gilbert and 
L What do you think of that? Father is well 
enough to travel, and he has prevailed upon his 
brother to accompany us. In fact, I think that 
Uncle imagines we are two invalids and need his 
care — I'm glad he does. I'm so busy packing, I 
haven't time to write more. Will tell you all about 
it when I see you. Meet us at St. Pancras station 
Thursday, at 6 p. m. 

"With love from 


Elder Malby accompanied Chester to the station 
to meet his friends from Ireland. The two brothers 
were fairly well acquainted with London, so they 
had no trouble in finding a hotel in a quiet part of 
the city. Lucy's father seemed himself again. He 
walked with a cane, which, however, may have been 
his regular European custom. Lucy was uncom- 
monly well, declaring that the long journey had not 
tired her a bit. 

Plans were discussed in the hotel that evening, 
and it was finally decided to go to Paris by way of 
Rotterdam, Antwerp and Brussels. The stages 


would have to be easy for the sake of the ''two in- 
valids," as Uncle Gilbert put it, to which Chester 
heartily agreed. 

Late the next morning, for the travelers needed 
the rest, Chester called for them, and the party of 
four saw a little of London from the top of a 'bus. 
The weather continued fair, and as the summer was 
well advanced, the air was warm. The sightseers 
had a simple luncheon at a small cafe which Uncle 
Gilbert knew near the British Museum, and then 
they continued their rambles until the close of 
the afternoon, when Chester put them down at the 
''Mormon" mission headquarters. 

Elder Malby received them warmly, provided easy 
seats for Lucy and her father, and took hats and 
wraps under protestations that they were not going 
to stay. A number of missionaries came in and 
they were introduced. Lucy beamed with delight, 
her father unreservedly told the young men they 
were from America, — and western America at that; 
but Uncle Gilbert was not quite at his ease among 
the new company. He knew, of course, that these 
people were "Mormons," and his knowledge of 
"Mormons" and their ways, although somewhat 
vague, was not reassuring. 

When the good-natured English housekeeper an- 
nounced that supper was ready, it seemed impossible 
to do otherwise than to follow her and Elder Malby 
down to the large basement room. In fact, Lucy, 
without any ifs or ands took her father's arm and 


led him along. Uncle Gilbert thought he had never 
seen her in such a bold frame of mind. 

Certainly, Chester, Elder Malby, and the house- 
keeper must have plotted to bring about that little 
supper party. The dining room was severely bare, 
but scrupulously clean. That evening the thread- 
bare table cloth had been replaced by a new one. 
The usual menu of bread, milk, and jam was aug- 
mented by slices of cold meat, a dish of fruit, and a 
cake. Two small bouquets adorned the ends of the 
long table. 

"Visitors," whispered one of the elders to an- 

''Extraordinary visitors," replied the other. ''J^st 
like home when Uncle John came to see us." 

The housekeeper even furnished tea for the Rev. 
Mr. Strong and his brother. Lucy said she liked 
milk better, so she filled her glass along with Ches- 
ter's and the other ''Mormons." She chatted freelv 
with the young elder near her, learned that he was 
from Idaho, that he had been away six months, that 
he had not been home-sick, and that he was not 
married. The elders were to hold street meetings 
that evening after supper. 

"I should like to go with you," she said ; but 
Chester, overhearing the conversation, told her that 
for various reasons, such a course would not be wise. 

Afterwards, there Vv^as some singing in the office- 
parlor, then Chester went with the party to their 

"I believe papa is being favorably impressed," 


said Lucy to Chester before they parted. 'T wish 
he could see as I do." 

''That would indeed be something to be thankful 
for," agreed Chester. 

The following afternoon the continental party 
took the train to Harwich, then boat for the Hook 
of Holland, where they arrived next morning. A 
short ride by rail brought them to Rotterdam. 

Uncle Gilbert had seen the city before, but the 
quaint town interested the others for the first time. 
"Everything is clean in Holland but the canals," 
some one has said. In Rotterdam, the ancient wind- 
mills, with huge spreading arms, stand in the midst 
of modern shops, and the contrast is strange. 

Uncle Gilbert directed the party to the Delfts- 
haven church, explaining that in this ancient build- 
ing the Pilgrim Fathers worshiped before they set 
sail for the New World. Then the sight-seers took 
train for The Hague, ten miles away. They visited 
the House of the Woods, where the Peace Con- 
srresses are held, observed Oueen Wilhelmina's resi- 
dence from without, looked at some of the famous 
paintings in the art gallery, then shuddered over the 
instruments of torture on exhibition in the "Torture 
Chamber" found in the old prison. There were 
some gruesome articles here. 

"All in the name of religion," remarked the min- 
ister, shaking his head. "It seems to me that in 
those days men taxed their ingenuity to find new and 
more terrible means of inflicting pain. And men 
suffered in those days because of religious belief." 


Someone had expressed himself on the subject in 
these lines, which they read from a card : 

''By my soul's hope of rest, 
I'd rather have been born, ere man was blessed 
With the pure dawn of revelation's light ; 
Yea ; rather plunge me back into pagan night 
And take my chances with Socrates for bliss, 
Than be a Christian of a faith like this." 

Out from the depressing gloom of the prison, 
they took the electric car to Scheveningen, the fa- 
mous sea-side resort. The season was hardly begun 
yet, so there were but few visitors. However, the 
sands dotted with their peculiar wicker shelters and 
the beautiful blue North Sea were there. Out on 
the water could be seen the little ''pinken" — the fish- 
ing boats, their sails red and taut or white and wing- 
like, speeding before the wind. The waves swept 
in long straight lines, and broke on the sands in 
muffled sound. The scene was restful, so the party 
Avas served with something to eat and drink on a 
table within sound and sight of the open sea. 

That evening, back in Rotterdam, Chester and 
Lucy, while the two brothers took their ease "at 
home," found the Mission headquarters, introduced 
themselves to the elders, and spent a few hours very 
pleasantly with them. They learned from the mis- 
sionaries that the Dutch were for the most part, an 
honest. God-fearing people, quite susceptible to the 
gospel. There were no meetings that evening, but 


in lieu thereof, the presiding elder took them out 
and introduced them to some of the Saints. Then, 
when they came back to the office, the housekeeper 
served them with cool milk, white bread, sweet but- 
ter, and whiter cheese. 

The next day the tourists went on to Brussels, 
stopping a few hours only at Antwerp, which city 
was a surprise. As Chester said, 'T remember see- 
ing such a place on the map, but I had no idea it 
was such a fine, large city. 

They saw many wide streets lined with the most 
unique houses, many of them having ''terraced 
gables" facing the street. 

''This is certainly the town for fancy 'ginger- 
bread' decorations," commented Chester, as they ob- 
served the net-work of cornices and forest of pin- 
nacles. There was even a full-sized mounted charger 
on the topmost point of a seven-story building. The 
Cathedral, with its tall sculptured tower, was no 
doubt an architectural marvel. A brief visit was 
made to the art gallery, "full of Ruben's fat women," 
as Uncle Gilbert expressed it. 

" 'Anvers,' " read the minister from a post-card. 
"I thought this was Antwerp?" 

"Antwerp is the English of it," explained Uncle 

"Well, I think names — names of cities and coun- 
tries, at least, should be the same in all languages. 
At any rate, they could be spelled alike. If this 
town is Anvers, why not call it that?" 

Sunday evening brought the party to Brussels, or 


Bruxelles, in the original. The life and gaity of 
the city were in full swing, and most of the shops 
were doing their usual business. Uncle Gilbert did 
not want to remain long, but Lucy said she wished 
to visit the battle-field of Waterloo, and one or two 
points of interest in the city. So the evening and 
the next day were consumed. The battle-field is 
reached by train from the city. From the Waterloo 
station, there is a mile or two of walking or riding 
in carriages to the immediate field of battle. A 
great pyramid of earth covered with grass to its 
summit marks the spot where the conflict raged the 
fiercest. From the top of this monument a fine view 
is had. What was once a bloody battle-field was 
that day decked with growing fields, dotted with 
feeding kine. Lucy had again to be denied the 
pleasure of the view from the top. She sat in the 
wagon below and got what she could from the man 
who had been left with the horses. It was all very 
interesting, but Lucy was so tired when they got 
back to the hotel that she could not see more of 

Next morning they went on to Paris. All but 
Chester had been in this gay city before. The 
weather was getting quite warm, so the two brothers 
did not care to follow the strenuous pace set by 
Chester in his sight seeing. During the heat of the 
day they kept quietly within their rooms or strolled 
leisurely along the shaded boulevards. Chester, by 
promising to take the utmost care of Lucy, was per- 
mitted to take her with him to visit some of the 


sights. She knew enough French to make herself 
fairly well understood, and that was a great help. 

So these two rode and rambled about Paris for 
nearly a week, sometimes with the father, sometimes 
with Uncle Gilbert, but more often by themselves. 
The days were fine. The parks and boulevards were 
gay with people. They made purchases in the shops 
along Rue de Rivoli and at the Bon ^Marche, the 
great department store which Lucy declared they 
could equal in Kansas City. They gazed for hours 
in the Louvre Art Gallery, coming back time and 
again to look once more at some picture. The Venus 
de Milo had a fascination about it which drew them 
into the long gallery, where at the extreme end, the 
classic marble figure stands alone. 

They rode on the Seine, wondering at its clear 
waters. They walked about the open squares and 
gardens all of them of historic significance. They 
promenaded, very quietly, it is true, along the 
Champs Elysees. They lingered about the Petit 
Palais, one of the most beautiful of Paris buildings 
because of its newness, its clean, chaste finish, and 
the artistic combination of marble, pictures, and 
flowers. Was it any wonder that amid all this 
interesting beauty Chester's and Lucy's eyes and 
hands frequently met to express what words failed 
to do? 

The four sight-seers were at Napoleon's Tomb, 
admiring the wonderful light effect. 

"Every time I visit this place," said Uncle Gil- 
bert, 'T like to read a summary of Napoleon's ca- 


reer which I found and clipped. Would you like 
to hear it?" 

The others said they would, so Uncle Gilbert 

"Egyptian sands and Russian snows alike in- 
vaded; a revolution quelled, an empire created; his 
own brethren seated on thrones of vassal kingdoms ; 
a complete code of jurisprudence formed for France 
from the wrecks of mediaeval misrule; the most 
profound strategist of the ages; denounced by na- 
tions as the 'disturber of the peace of the world ;' vi- 
olating the marriage law of God and man; himself 
a dwarf in height, and lowering the physical stature 
of a generation of his countrymen through the 
frightful carnage of wars undertaken largely for 
his personal aggrandizement; succumbing in the 
moment of final victory to insidious disease; twice 
expatriated, dying in exile across the seas, after 
twenty years ; in life, the idol of a race and the detes- 
tation of the rest of the continent ; and now, a hand- 
ful of dust, his spirit in the presence of its Maker.'" 

This reading furnished a text for the minister, 
who talked rather more freely than he had recently 
done. Notre Dame lay in their route that afternoon, 
so naturally enough, they went in. Uncle Gilbert re- 
marking that this was a fit place for the minister to 
conclude his sermon. 

''What a dark, musty place," said Lucy. 

'Tt fits in very well with their religion," suggested 
Chester. "A lot of outward show, but within, dark 
and dead." 


Uncle Gilbert, though living in Ireland, was not a 
Catholic, so he took no offense at this remark. 

Then while they were "doing" churches, they vis- 
ited that of St. Sulpice, a very large edifice, in the 
floor of which is a brass line which marks the Me- 
ridian of Paris. At the left of the entrance sits St. 
Peter in life-sized bronze, in possession of the Keys. 
The naked big toe of this figure is easily reached by 
the worshipers. 

'T have heard of people kissing images of the 
Saints," said Chester, "but I have never seen any- 
thing of the kind." Let us rest here a while, to see 
if anything happens." 

Lucy was glad of the suggestion as she was more 
tired than she wished to acknowledge. The big 
church was cool and quiet. Worshipers singly and 
in twos were coming and going. Presently, a 
woman, and presumably her daughter, came in, and 
as they passed St. Peter they leaned forward and 
kissed the shining, metal toe. They passed on to a 
confessional where the priest could be seen and 
faintly heard behind the latticed window. 

All this was exceedingly interesting to the young 
people. The two brothers were absorbed more in 
the building itself than what was going on within; 
even to what their two young people were doing. 
Chester, surely was prompted by a spirit of sacri- 
ledge when he took from an inner pocket a picture 
post-card he had bought in Ireland. 

"The kissing of the toe reminded me of it," said 
he, as he handed the card to Lucv. who looked at 


the picture of an Irishman in the act of kissing his 
sweetheart, Blarney Castle being shown in the dis- 
tance. Underneath was the following: 

*'With quare sinsashuns and palpitashuns, 
A kiss I'll venture here, Mavrone; 

'Tis swater Blarney, good Father Mahoney, 
Kissin' the girls than that dirty stone." 

Lucy's father tapped her on the shoulder. "You're 
in a church. Behave yourself," he said. "Come, 
let's be going." 


It was evident that, notwithstanding the good in- 
tentions which all persons concerned had of not 
overreaching in the sight-seeing business, Lucy, at 
least, was feeling its effects. That she would have to 
remain quiet for some days w^as the verdict of the 
physican which her father called. There was no im- 
mediate danger, said he to Chester, but the heart 
action was feeble. A week of absolute rest would 
remedy that. 

Chester was packed off to Switzerland alone, con- 
trary to the program he had looked forward to. 
Uncle Gilbert did not care to go. Mr. Strong 
would have to remain with Lucy, so if Chester was 
to see Switzerland, he would have to try it alone. 
When Chester heard of the arrangement, he de- 
murred; but when Lucy's father suggested to him 
that perhaps it would be best for her, he said no 

After Chester's departure, the three settled down 
to the business at hand, that of resting. That was 
easy enough for Lucy and her father, but Uncle 
Gilbert was hale and hearty, so he continued to 
make short daily excursions to points of interest. 
They had pleasant quarters, not too near the noise 
of the city. The semi-private hotel had but few 
guests, so the back garden in which dinner was 
usually served, proved a desirable lounging place. 


Uncle Gilbert was away that afternoon. Lucy 
was resting in her room. The Rev. Mr. Strong 
paced nervously back and forth in the garden for a 
time, then dropped heavily into an easy chair. The 
French maid, stepping quietly about placed a pillow 
under his head, which kindness he accepted grate- 
fully. The garden was still. There were no sharp 
near-noises, the city's actiyity coming merely as a 
faint distant hum. 

The minister closed his eyes, but he did not go to 
sleep. His mind was too active for that, his nerves 
were tingling again. The bright, gay life about him 
did not exist for him. That afternoon he lived in 
the past. He marshalled for review contending 
thoughts, that had for many years fought for su- 
premacy. Out of the chaos of conflict no order had 
yet come. He was getting old before his years jus- 
tified it. 

Why should he, a minister of the word of God, 
be so easily moved by strange rehgious ideas? 
Faintly as if from some distant, mostly forgotten 
past, there came to him this idea, that the truth, the 
whole, clean, simple truth as it exists in Christ Jesus 
had been told him, and he had rejected it. Why 
he had done this was not clear to him. He seemed 
to have lived in periods of alternating darkness and 
light. Then later, he had come in contact with so- 
called ''Mormonism." Strange to say, its teachings 
had the same ring as that which he had heard be- 
fore; but this time he rejected it because of its evil 
name. Once again, a little later, these same doc- 


trines had come to him, but they were not welcomed 
when he learned that those who taught them and 
lived them were simple, ofttimes uneducated people, 
usually called the ''scum" of the earth. 

The Rev. ]\Ir. Strong had actually given up his 
pastorship in two places, moving westward until he 
reached Kansas City. Here for a number of years, 
he had experienced peace, a sort of indifferent peace, 
he admitted, due more to callousness of soul than to 
anything else. Then came Lucy's adventure with 
the "Mormon" elders on the streets, and her visit 
to "Mormon" meetings. She had brought "Mor- 
mon" literature home, and he had read it, read it all. 
He had asked her to bring more. He had often sat 
up till midnight to finish a book, then had railed at 
Lucy for bringing it into the house. And now the 
conflict was on again, harder than ever. He closed 
his eyes, saying, "No, no;" then opened them again 
to the beautiful light. He stopped his ears, crying, 
"I will not hear;" then listened to the sweet music. 
With all the force of his life's training, he railed 
against the doctrine ; then in silence contemplated its 
glorious truths. He drove the thought of it out of 
his mind; then welcomed it eagerly back. Back 
and forth, in and out, in doubt and fear, in faith 
and hope his soul had suffered and wrought. 

What was the outcome to be? Evidently, the 
end was not yet; for had he not purposely taken 
this trip abroad, to get away from some of these 
things, and had he not run hard against that which 
he had hoped to escape. And in what form had it 


now come ? In that of his son, his only son, the child 
of his younger days ! Surely God was in this thing. 
"Yes," the man muttered, ''God is watching me. I 
cannot escape. His hand is over me. 'If I take the 
zi'ings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost 
parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, 
and thy right hand shall hold mef " 

Uncle Gilbert came in, humming lightly a tune 
he had caught from the band in the cafe. He 
stopped when he saw his brother apparently asleep. 
He was about to retreat when his brother, opening 
his eyes, called : 

''Don't go ; come here. I want to talk with you. 
I want your opinion on a matter." 

Uncle Gilbert seated himself to listen. 

"You might think it a strange thing for me to 
ask you about doctrines of religion," began the 
brother, "but sometimes a layman has a clearer, more 
unbiased view than one who has studied one sys- 
tem, and — and has made his living from preach- 
ing it." 

"I fear, brother, you are worrying too much about 
such things" — 

"Not at all — not too much. It's necessary to 
worry sometimes. I suppose that's God's way of 
arousing people. I am worrying — have been worry- 
ing for many years — just now I want someone to 
talk to — I want you to listen." 

"I'll do that, if that will help you," said the 
brother as he placed his hat and stick on a table and 
shifted himself into a comfortable position. The 


maid peeped in, but seeing the two men, retired 

'T have preached hundreds of sermons on the 
being and nature of God," said the minister, now- 
sitting erect and looking at his brother. 'T have 
spoken of Him as a Father, our Father, and all the 
time He has been out in time and space, formless, 
homeless, unthinkable. He has never appealed to 
heart or brain. Will God ever be more to me than 
a force in and through all nature? Shall we ever 
see His face? Shall we ever feel the cares of His 
hand and hear His voice, not in a figurative sense, 
but in reality." 

"Now brother" — said Uncle Gilbert again. 

''Don't interrupt. You do not need to answer my 
questions — you couldn't if you wanted to. Listen. 
What do you think of this : God is our Father, in 
reality as we naturally understand it — Father of our 
spirits. We are, therefore. His children. That is 
our relationship. Consequently we are of a family 
of Gods. Admit that our Father is God. and that 
we are His children, the conclusion is absolute. W^e 
are not worms of the dust, only so far as we degrade 
our divine nature to that lowness. 

^'This Father of ours has in the past eternities trod 
through time and space, learning. — yes. suffering, 
overcoming, conquering, becoming perfect, until now 
He sits in the midst of glory, power, and eternal 
lives. In might and majesty perfect. He can and 
does hold us all as in the hollow of His hand. This 


little earth of ours, and all the shining worlds on 
high are His workmanship. He holds them also by 
His allwise power. And yet, my brother, come 
back to this simple proposition, we are that great 
Being's sons and daughters, and if we walk in the 
way in which He walked, we are heirs to all that 
He has ! I am one of a great family, so are you, — 
all of us. Our Father has but gone before and we 
follow. The difference between us is only in degree 
of development and not in kind. . 

" 'O God, I think thy thoughts after Thee,' said 
Kepler, and thoughts lead to deeds. 

''Again, the Son, whom we know as Jesus Christ, 
came to reveal to us this Father. He was in 'the 
form of God.' He was the 'image of the invisible 
God.' Further, this Son was in the express image 
of the Father's person. Jesus Christ was a man like 
unto us as far as outward form is concerned. He 
is one of this great family, the first-born and fore- 
most of the children, it is true, yet one of us — He 
acknowledged us as His brethren. Now, then lis- 
ten: Jesus follows His Father. 'The Son can do 
nothing of Himself, but what He seeth the Father 
do : for what things soever He doeth, these also 
doeth the Son likewise.' Also, this Son said: 'My 
Father worketh hitherto, and I work.' Now, if 'we 
follow in the steps of the Son, as He has commanded 
us to do, and that Son follows in the steps of His 
Father, where is our final destination?" 

The brother listened in wonder. The doctrine 
was, indeed, stran.f^e. but it was too dear and logical 


to be the result of a weak mind. The minister saw 
the perplexity in his listener's face and said : 

"No, brother, I am not crazy. My mind has never 
been clearer. I feel line now. I tell you. there is 
manna for a hungry soul in these things. 

''And now again : This Hfe is a school. From 
the puny, helpless infant to old age, life is a develop- 
ment of the attributes with which we come into the 
world. We get all our education through our 
senses. No faculty of mind or body is useless. The 
perfect man has these all perfectly developed. Wq 
have at least one example of a perfect man, the 
resurrected Son of God. \\'hat was He like? When 
He appeared to His disciples He said, 'Handle me 
and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye 
see me have.' He also ate with His brethren. Here, 
then, we have, one of us, carrying with Him into 
the celestial world His body of flesh and bone. And, 
mind you, He is the pattern. If we follow Him, we 
also shall take with us these bodies, changed, purged, 
and glorified of course, but yet bodies in every sense. 
Will not the eye then see perfectly, the ear hear 
every sound in the celestial key? Not only every 
attribute of the mind, but eveyy ^etfgan of the body 
will be prefect in its operation.^ Think what that 
will mean !" 

The speaker paused as if to let his listener arrive 
at the inevitable conclusion in his own mind. 

"What will it mean?" he asked again. 

"I don't know," replied Uncle Gilbert. 

"It will mean fatherhood — eternal, celestialized 



fatherhood. We shall be like Him our Father, not 
only to beget, but to father a race! Think of that! 
Did you ever think of that ? No, of course not — and 
I — musn't — I who — have never yet made a begin- 
ning — how can I expect" — 

The head fell back on the pillow as Uncle Gilbert 
quickly came to his brother's side: The minister's 
face was pale, his eyes were closed for a moment. 
Then he opened them, sat upright, ran his hand over 
his face, and smiled at his brother. 

''Don't be alarmed," he said, ''it was nothing. I'm 
all right." 

He walked about while the maid came in and 
set the table for dinner. The minister linked his 
arm into his brother's. ''Say, brother," he asked, 
"would you not be lonesome up in heaven without 
Aunt Sarah?" 

Uncle Gilbert was seriously alarmed. He had in 
mind to call Lucy, when, providentially she came to 

"I think your father's not well, Lucy?" said Uncle 
Gilbert, as she took her father's other arm. 

"What's the matter, papa?" she asked. 

"I am well," protested the father — "as well as I 
ever was. I've just been telling brother here some 
things — some gospel truths in fact, and I guess 
they're beyond you yet," he said to his brother. 

Well," replied Uncle Gilbert, "I'll admit I've 
never heard you talk like that before." 

"Why, I've preached these things scores of times 
from the pulpit, and my congregations have thought 


them fine. I didn't tell, however, where my inspira- 
tion came from." 

''Where did it come from?" asked Lucy. 

''From your books, my dear." 

"My books?" 

"Yes; from your books on "Mormonism." 

Had not dinner just then been announced, it is 
hard to say what would have become of Uncle Gil- 
bert's astonishment. Across the table he saw Lucy's 
reassuring smile from w^hich he himself took courage 
that all was well. 


My Dear Lucy: — I am writing this in my room 
high up on the hillside of Lucerne, (Luzern) pro- 
nounced as if there were a "t" before the ''z." The 
day is closing. The light is yet bright on the moun- 
tains, but the lake lies in shadows. The lamps are 
being lighted down below in the town and along 
the promenade. I hear faintly the arrival of the 
steamer at the pier. 

But let me begin at the beginning, and tell you 
what I have seen and done up to the present. This 
telling is a poor substitute for the reality, I assure 
you; but as you have never been in Switzerland, 
you might be interested in the sights here — through 
my eyes ! Let me say now, before I forget, that 
at every point of beauty and interest, I said in my 
heart, "O that Lucy could be here to enjoy this!" 
It really seemed selfish in me to be alone. And 
then, you know, the pleasure of sight seeing is 
materially enhanced when one has a sympathetic 
companion to whom one may exclaim : 'Tsn't that 
grand !" 

We entered Switzerland at Basel, then journeyed 
on to Zurich. This is Switzerland's largest city, and 
in my opinion, it is one of the most beautiful large 
cities I have ever seen. Of course, I hunted up the 
Church headquarters, where I was fortunate to meet 
a friend I had known in Salt Lake. He kindly gave 


me the information I desired about the city and 
even took a few hours off duty to accompany me to 
points of interest. 

That evening we went to the Opera house, where 
Faust was being played. I had a great desire to see 
Faust in the original, and though my German is not 
up to Goethe's standard, I could follow the plot 
somewhat, and I was eagerly watching for Mar- 
garet to make her appearance on the stage. After 
a long evening, the curtain went down, and all the 
people got up and left — yet no Margaret had ap- 
peared. I was puzzled; but my friend explained 
that the play was only half over. If I desired to 
see the rest, I would have to come back the following 
evening. What do you think of that? \\>11, I 
didn't go back — I went to Lucerne, next morning. 

I wanted to see the Alps, of course, and we 
got a distant view only of them from Zurich. Here, 
at Lucerne, we have them in all their grand beauty. 

I don't mind admitting to you that my purse 
would not allow my stopping longer at the 
Schweizerhof, than to merely take a good look at 
the exterior. I had with me the Lucerne elders' 
address, and easily found them. They directed me 
to a friend who had cheap rooms, and it is here 
I am writing to you. The view is just as fine from 
my window as from the big hotel — nay, finer, for I 
am higher up; and after all, Lucy, the five francs' 
out-look on a beautiful world is enjoyed quite as 
much as if it cost fifteen. I can see the cap or the 
collar of Mt. Pilatus better perhaps than the fat. 


cross, silk-clad lady I saw on the boat yesterday, can 
see them. (By *'cap" is meant a cloud resting on 
top, by ''collar" the cloud encircling Pilatus' head.) 

This brings me to my trip on Lake Lucerne day 
before yesterday. We started early. The tourist 
season has hardly begun yet, so we were not crowd- 
ed. There was rain threatening. The mountain 
tops were hidden by clouds, and the prospect was 
not assuring. However, by the time we landed at 
Brunnen, the clouds had lifted, the sun came out, 
and the day became pleasantly warm. From Brun- 
nen, it was our plan to walk along the Axenstrasse, 
to Fluelen, a distance of five or six miles. There 
were three of us, with an elder for guide. I wish 
you could have spent that afternoon with us — with 
me, strolling along that wonderful road, cut out 
of the mountain side bordering the lake. The post 
cards I am enclosing will give you an idea of the 
scenery, and I assure you the blueness of the lake is 
not overdone in the picture. 

The road leads along gently sloping hill-sides, 
covered with farms, then it pierces the sheer rock, 
then again borders the cliff, fifty or one hundred feet 
from the lake below. The trees are in full leaf and 
some are in bloom. The grass is high where we 
walked, but up towards the tops of the mountains, 
the snow still lies. One of the strange sights is 
to see large, splendid hotels perched in some cranny 
away up near the summit of the peaks. Cog rail- 
ways now take the tourists up some of the moun- 


The region around Lake Lucerne is historic, I 
am told. Here began the Swiss struggle for liberty 
which we read about. The scene of William Tell's 
exploits are laid here, and we are shown on the 
shore of the lake, Tell's Capelle, said to mark the 
spot where the apple-shooting patriot leaped ashore 
and escaped from the tyrant Gessler. I do not 
wonder at men, born and reared amid these moun- 
tains not submitting to the yoke of oppression. 

In reading up on Lucerne, I came upon this, 
taken from "Romance and Teutonic Switzerland." 

"The Swiss nation was born on the banks of Lake 
Luzern, and craddled upon its waters. First, the 
chattering waves told the news to the overhanging 
beaches ; and they whispered it to the forests, to the 
lonely cedars on the uplands. The blank precipices 
smiled, the Alpine roses blushed their brightest, the 
summer pastures glowed, the glaciers and avalanches 
roared approval : and, finally, the topmost peaks 
promised to lend their white mantles for the bap- 
tism." That's rather nicely put, don't you think? 

About half way along Axentsrasse, we discov- 
ered that we were hungry, so we proposed to try one 
of the farm houses for something to eat. Our 
guide, tried one that looked typical of what we 
wanted, and the rest of us waited by the road, for 
fully thirty minutes. 

At last the elder returned, explaining that he had 
had no easy task. He had to plead with every 
member of the household, from grandmother to 
daughter, to get them to take us in; but at last he 


was successful. We went into a most interesting" 
room. The finish and furnishings were old and 
quaint, the woodwork bare of paint and scoured 
clean and smooth by years of scrubbing. In time 
we were served with bread (they were out of but- 
ter, they said) preserved cherries, walnuts, and hot 
milk. (Our guide said it was safer to have the 
milk boiled.) We enjoyed the meal amid the unique 
surroundings. The good people were profuse with 
thanks when we paid them in good-sized silver. 
I believe the elder left a gospel tract with them, so 
who can tell what will be the outcome of our visit? 

From Fluelen we took steamer back to Lucerne. 

Well, it's getting late. I'd better go to bed. I 
fear I shall tire you by my guide-book descriptions. 
But this for a good-night's thought: Here I am 
away from you, away from my world, as it were. I 
can look back on my short life, and I can see the 
hand of an allwise and merciful Father, shaping- 
events, ever for my good. Was it chance that we 
two should have taken the same steamer and be 
throvs^n together as we were. Not at all. There 
is a power behind the universe — call it what we 
may — which directs. This power will not permit any 
honest, truth-seeking soul to be overcome and be 
destroyed. I thank the Lord for His blessings to 
me. Out of seeming darkness and despair He has led 
me to light and happiness. And may I say it, we 
two, because of our cleaving to the light as it has 
been made known to us, have been brought together. 
Is it not true? I wish and pray also that your 


father may soften his heart towards the truth. I 
sometimes fear that his heart does already accept 
the gospel, but that his will says no. There now, 
<^ood nigfht. ********** 

Good morning. I had a line sleep. I dreamed 
that you were with me, and we were looking at the 
Lion of Lucerne. The dying lion roared, and you 
clasped me so tightly in your fright, that I awoke, — 
all of which reminds me that I have not told you 
much about this city or its sights. 

The Lion, I suppose is Lucerne's most distinctive 
curiosity. As you will see by the card, it is a large 
figure of a lion carved out of the solid rock in the 
hillside. Thorwaldsen furnished the model. It was 
made to commemorate the bravery of the Swiss 
guards who fought in the service of Louis XVI at 
the outbreak of the French Revolution. 

Switzerland is sometimes called the playground 
of Europe. Down on the promenades by the lakes. 
one may see people from ''every nation under heav- 
en" nearly. By the way, who do you think I met. 
day before yesterday? Why, our would-be gallant 
ship-board friend. Strange to say, he was sober, 
and more strange, he appeared pleased to see me. He 
wanted to take me to all kinds of places, and treat 
me to all kinds of good things ; but further, 
strange (?) to relate, I shook him for the company 
of a few native saints, for there was a meeting 
that evening which I attended. I had to speak too. 
in English, of course, with one of the missionaries 
interpreting. It was an odd experience. 


The postman has just been here with your note. 
I was very sorry the new^s from you was not better. 
I am blaming myself for tiring you out too much 
with my sight seeing. Send me at least a card 
everyday to this address, please. I have thought to 
go through the country to Bern, but I suppose all the 
lakes and mountains of Switzerland look much alike. 
I am quite satisfied with Lucerne. I was very much 
interested in what your father said about "Mormon- 
ism." If our prayers are of any avail, we'll "get 
him" yet. 

Before I close this long letter, and I must do so 
now — I want to tell you of an incident that occurred 
yesterday. I was taking a stroll up above the town, 
by myself, for I will admit I was in a "mood." There 
are a lot of monks in Lucerne. You can see them on 
the street, fat, rolly-poly looking men, bare, oddly- 
cropped heads, and outwardly clad in what looks like 
a dressing gown. \\^ell, I was curious to see the con- 
vent where the monks live a life of ease, I suppose 
to get used to the eternal "rest" which they expect 
when they get to heaven, of which 1 have my 
"doubts." However, I did not find the convent, nor 
did I see any monks, but as I was walking along an 
unfrequently traveled road, I met a little boy and 
girl, walking towards me, hand in hand. They were 
crying. When they saw me, they wiped their eyes 
and stopped. I saw they were poorly clad, and, 
somewhat dirty. I became interested in them, but 
they were so shy that it was with dif^culty I got 
them to remain. They looked at the coppers I held 


out, but they did not move until I placed a silver 
piece beside them. Their eyes rounded out, then, and 
the litle girl became brave enough to come and take 
them. Well, I tried my German on them, but they 
were, evidently, too Swiss to understand me — I was 
at the time making a whistle from a small willow 
which I had cut from the wayside. I seated myself 
on the bank and went on making my whistle. The 
children watched me pound the bark, then twist off 
the loosened peeling, and finish the whistle. When 
I blew it, they laughed. I handed it to the boy. 
who timidly put it to his lips. They sat down by me, 
and I made a whistle for the girl, then a third, big- 
ger one, which I stuck into the boy's pocket, telling 
him to take it home. You ought to have seen the 
changed expression on those two dirty faces when 
they left me, blowing happily on their willow whis- 

I was lonesome no longer. What a little thing 
will bring joy into a dreary life! 

Love to all with heaping measures for you, from 
Yours as ever, 



A week of comparative quiet brought little charge 
for the better to Lucy, so it was decided that they 
would by easy stages, get back to London, thence 
to Cork and Kildare Villa. Lucy kept Chester in- 
formed of their doings, saying as little as possible 
about her health. As she did not wish to deprive 
him of the full enjoyment of his visit to Switzerland, 
she did not send him word of their intentions, until 
they were ready to leave. They would go by way of 
Calais and Dover, the short-water route, she wrote 

When Chester received this information he hastily 
cut short his sight seeing, and started for London 
by way of Rotterdam. The long ride alone was 
somewhat tiresome, and he was glad to meet again 
some of the elders in the land of canals and wind- 

Just before the train rolled into Rotterdam, Ches- 
ter thought of Glen Curtis. It came to him as a dis- 
tinct shock when he realized that he had entirely 
forgotten to enquire about Glen on his former visit. 
''Well," said he to himself, ''so easily do our in- 
terests change from one person to another." But 
now he must find his old friend. He could freely 
talk to him now even about Julia Elston. 

Chester learned from the elder in charge at the 
office, that Elder Curtis was released to return home 


in a few days. He would be in Rotterdam shortly. 
When? In a few days. But Chester could not 
wait that long, so he took train to the city where 
Glen was laboring, and found him making his fare- 
well rounds. 

''Well of all things," exclaimed the elder, as Ches- 
ter took him firmly by the hand. 

'T'm the last person on earth you expected to see 
here in Dutchland, I suppose?" 

"You certainly are. And what are you doing 

Chester told him as they walked arm in arm along 
the quiet streets of the town. 

"And now you're going home. W^e'U go to- 
gether," exclaimed Glen. 

'T wish we could," said Chester, "but I fear that 
my party is not ready, and Lucy is not well enough 
to make the trip, I fear." 


Chester smiled goodnaturedly, then told him freely 
of Lucy. "And when you get home, you can tell 
Julia all about me and mine. It will please her, I 
am sure. By the way, how is it between Julia and 
you? I haven't heard lately." 

"All right," said Glen. 

"You're a lucky boy," declared Chester, to get such 
a girl. There's just one other I would rather have." 

"I'm glad you think so." 

"Of course vou are — for — oh. for evervbody's 

Chester had to return to Rotterdam the same day. 


so he claimed. Glen could not keep him longer, and 
reluctantly waved him off at the station. 

The boat was slow from the Hook, at least it 
seemed so to Chester, and there was a high sea which 
nearly upset him. He got to London too late in the 
evening to call on the Strong's, but next morning 
he was out early. 

Lucy met him in the hall with a cry of delight. 

"You've come," she whispered as he pressed her 
close. "Oh, I thought you never would." 

"My dear, why did you not say? Why did you 
let me leave you at all?" 

"I didn't want you to miss anything on my account 
— but never mind that now — come in. Papa and un- 
cle will be glad to see you. Do you know," she added 
with evident pleasure, "papa has been nearly as 
anxious about you as I have, — has continually asked 
me about you, — and I had to let him read your lovely 
long letter." 

"You did ? Well, it's all right. There's no harm 
done, I'm sure. He might as well know everything." 

"Oh, he knows a lot already." 

They went into the house, and found seats until 
the others should appear. 

"Your face shows signs of suffering, Lucy; but 
otherwise you look quite well." 

"That's just it with my trouble. I usually deceive 
my looks ; but I feel better already ; and now, let me 
tell you something else: Father has nearly con- 
sented to mv being baptized !" 

"Lucv!" ' 


"It's true. I've been pleading with him — and 
preaching to him too; and the other day he said he 
would think about it. That's a concession, for he 
has always said he zvould not think of such a thing." 

"Fm so glad so very, very glad, Lucy." 

"And Chester, I believe it's you wdio have made 
the change in him. He's been so different since you 
have been with us. He hasn't been so angry with 
me when I talked of 'Mormonism.' He has let me 
read my books without any remonstrance. And do 
you know, even Uncle Gilbert is affected. He and 
papa must have had some profound discussions about 
us and our religion for he has asked me to lend him 
some books. "He'll no doubt want to know from 
your all about Utah and the people out there." 

"And I shall be pleased to tell him," said Chester. 

The father stood as if hesitating, in the door- 

"Come in, papa," said Lucy. "Chester's come." 
"Yes; I see he has," replied the father as he came 
to greet the young man, and shake his hand warmly. 
"Fm glad, with Lucy to see you with us again." 
"And I am glad to be with you," said Chester 

The morning was spent together. The beginnings 
of a London fog kept them in doors, which was no 
hardship, as the three seemed to have so much to talk 
about. After lunch, the fog changed its intentions, 
lifted, disappeared and let the sun have full sway. 
To be sure, some smoke still lingered, but out where 



the Strongs were staying it only mellowed the dis- 

That afternoon it occured to Chester that the re- 
lationship now existing between him and Lucy 
called for a further understanding with the father. 
He knew, of course, that the father's attitude toward 
him had changed ; Lucy's words and the father's ac- 
tions justified him in the thought. 

Chester managed to accompany the father in his 
stroll in the park that afternoon, and without delay, 
he broached the subject so near his heart. The min- 
ister listened quietly to the young man plead his 
case, not interrupting until he had finished. They 
seated themselves on a bench by the grass. The 
father looked down at the figures he was drawing 
with his cane on the ground and mused for a mo- 
ment. Then he said : 

"Yes; I have given my consent, by my actions, 
at least. I have no objection to you. I like you 
very much. Lucy does too, and fathers can't very 
well stop such things. But there still remains the 
fact that Lucy is not well. There is no telling how 
long she can live, and yet I have heard of cases like 
hers where marriage has been a great benefit." 

"I thank you for your kind words," said Chester. 
''Let me assure you I shall be controlled by your 
judgement as to marriage. We are neither of us 
ready for that. Of course, I sincerely hope she will 
get stronger. I think she will; but meantime you 
have no objection to my loving her, and doing all 
for her that mv love can do?" 


''Certainly not, my boy, certainly not." The 
father placed his hand on the young man's shoulder 
as he said it. Chester noted the faint tremor in voice 
and hand, and his heart went out to him. 

"You are a comfort and a strength to Lucy — and 
to me," continued Mr. Strong. ''We miss you very 
much when you are away. Can't you stay with us 
right along. Perhaps that's not fair to ask — your 
home and friends — " 

"I have no home, my dear sir; and my friends, 
are few. I told you, did I not, my history?" 

"Yes, you told me, I remember." 

"And remembering, you think no less of me." 

"Not a bit — rather more." 

"Let me serve you then, you and Lucy. If you 
need me, I equally need you. Let me give what little 
there is in me to somebody that wants me. My life, 
so far, has been full of change and somewhat pur- 
poseless. I have drifted about the world. Let me 
now anchor with you. I feel as though I ought to 
do that — " 

The man clung closer to Chester, who, feeling a 
thrill of dear companionship, continued : 

"Let me be a son to you always, and a sister to 
Lucy, until it can be something more." 

"Yes, yes, my boy!" 

Others were out basking in the warm sun that 
afternoon. Those that walked leisurely and took 
notice of events about them, were impressed by the 
affectionate behavior of the two men. Lucy Strong 
was herself out. She was curious to know what had 


become of Chester and her father, besides, the sun 
was inviting. She soon found them, herself undis- 
covered. She paused, examined the flower beds, and 
became interested in the swans in the lake. Her 
face beamed with happiness when she saw them, for 
their shoulders were close together and Chesi^r-4iad 
her father's hands clasped firmly in his own.\ She 
tiptoed up behind them on the grass, then slipped 
her hands over each of their eyes. 

"Guess," she laughed. 

''A fairy princess," said Chester. 

''Mother Goose," responded the father. 

They moved apart and let her sit between them. 

"The rose between," suggested Chester. 

"The tie that binds," corrected the girl, placing 
an arm about each of them.\ 

Then they all laughed so merrily, that the infec- 
tion reached a ragged urchin playing on the gravel- 
path near by. 

"My dear," said the father. "Chester has prom- 
ised to stay with us, and be — " 

"Your man — about — the — house," finished Ches- 

"Which we certainly need," agreed Lucy. "Two 
people, Strong by name, but mighty weak by nature, 
as my old nurse used to say, require some such a 
man. I'm glad father picked you." 

"He chose us, rather, Lucy," said the father. 

"Well, either way." 

"Both," affirmed Chester, at which they all 
laughed again. 


A carr^iage with liveried coachman and footman, 
and containing two ladies drove by. The little boy 
had to leave his gravel castle while the wheels of the 
carriage crushed it to the level. The boy looked at 
the ruins a moment, then at the departing vehicle. 
Then he started his building anew safely away from 
wheel tracks. 

"A young philosopher," remarked the minister, 
observing the occurrence. 

'Tapa," said Lucy, after a pause of considera- 
ation, "you have made me so happy to-day. You 
can make my joy complete by granting me one other 

"What's that?" asked he unthinkingly. 

"Let me be baptized," she replied softly. 

The father's body stiffened perceptibly, and his 
face sobered. 

"Believe me, papa, I am sorry to have to annoy 
you so much on the matter ; but I can't help it. Some- 
thing within me urges me on. I can't get away from 
the testimony which I have, any more than I can 
get away from my shadow." 

"You can get away from your shadow," said the 

"Yes; by going into the dark, and that I do not 
want to do. I want to live in the light, — the beauti- 
ful gospel light always." 

Chester listened in pleased wonder to Lucy's 
pleadings. He added nothing as she seemed able 
to sav all that was necessarv. In time the father's 


face softened again, and he turned to Chester to ask : 

"What do you think of such arguments ?" 

'They're splendid — and reasonable — and true, 

"Of course, you would say so. Well, I'll think 
about it, Lucy." 

"But, papa, you've been thinking about it a lot, and 
time is going. Say yes today, now — here with Ches- 
ter and me — and the Lord alone. Besides, papa, 
now I ought to be one with Chester in everything. 
That's right, isn't it?" 

"Yes; that's right." 

"So you consent?" 

"I didn't say that." 

"You must. I'm of age anyway, and could do it 
without your consent; but I don't want to. I want 
your blessing instead of your disapproval on such 
an important step." 

"Could she stand the ordeal, do vou think?" asked 
the father of Chester. 

"In a few days when she gets a little stronger — 

"Well, let's walk a bit. You two go ahead. I 
must think." 

The two did as they were told nor looked back. 
The one was not thinking clearly and logically, so 
much as he was fighting over the eternal warfare 
of conviction against policy. He also knew. He had 
received more of a testimony than he ever admitted, 
even to himself. If he should do as his innermost 
conscience told him, he also would join Lucy in bap- 



tism of water for the remission of sins; but that 
thought he pushed from him. He, an old man in the 
ministry, to now change his faith — to cut himself off 
from his life's work — no, that would never do. It 
was different with Lucy, quite another thing. She 
had set her heart on it and on Chester, and it would 
be best for her — yes, it would be best for her. 

When Chester was saying good-night to Lucy that 
evening, the father came out into the hall to them. 

"Chester," said he, "tell Elder Malby I should like 
to see him to morrow. He is the one that attends to 
baptism into the Mormon Church, isn't he?" 

"Yes," replied Chester. "I shall tell him." 

"Oh, papa, you dear, good papa !" exclaimed Lucy 
throwing her arms about him. 

"There, there now, behave — say good-night to 

But she clung to him and kissed him through her 
tears of joy. Then she went to Chester. 

The father turned to go. 

"Wait a moment, papa, said Lucy. "I want to 
go with you." 

With a parting kiss for Chester, and a murmured 
good night, she took her father's arm and led him in. 


i^ucy gained in strength so rapidly that within a 
week it was thought safe to let her be baptized. Her 
father, Uncle Gilbert, Chester, the housekeeper at 
headquarters and one other sister were present at the 
Baths. Elder Malby performed the ordinance. Three 
others were also baptized at the same time. 

Uncle Gilbert was very curious as also a little ner- 
vous at what he called the ''dipping." He couldn't 
see why the cermony required a whole swimming 
pool when a few drops sprinkled on the forehead, 
had, as long as he had any recollection, been suffi- 
cient. The father witnessed the ordinance unmoved. 
Lucy went through the ordeal bravely, and when she 
came out from the dressing room where the sisters 
had helped her, he kissed her placidly on the fore- 

The party took a cab to the mission headquarters, 
where a simple service was held of singing and 
prayer. Elder Malby making a few remarks on the 
meaning and purpose of the ordinance of baptism. 
The newly baptized were then confirmed members of 
the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. 
Then the housekeeper invited them all down to the 
dining room, and again there were a few simple 
special features in celebration of the happy occassion. 

And it was a happy time in the one only way which 
comes from duty done. A sweet, quiet peace abode 


in every heart. Was not the Heavenly Father well 
pleased with these as He had been when the Son 
had done likewise. And the Holy Ghost, the Com- 
forter from heaven rested upon them softly as a 
dove, — that was the secret of their supreme joy. 

As Lucy had predicted, Uncle Gilbert's curiosity 
brought him to Chester for more information regard- 
ing Utah and the ''Mormons." The very next day 
after the baptism, L^ncle Gilbert met Chester before 
he entered the house. They greeted each other 
pleasantly, and then Chester inquired about Lucy, 
and how she was feeling. 

*'Lucy seems to be all right." was the reply, 
"though her father isn't so well this morning. He 
had a bad night but is sleeping now. That's why I 
met you here, so that he might not be disturbed by 
the bell." 

"I'm sorry," said Chester. "These attacks seem 
to be coming frequently." 

"My brother has not been well for years. For a 
long time he has had to fight hard with himself and 
his nerves. Sometimes they get the best of him 
for a time, and, of course, as he gets older, he has 
less strength. I wish we could get him to Kil- 
dare Villa. He would be himself again down there." 

"We were to have gone in a day or two, were 
we not?" 

"Yes; but he can't leave yet — Do you want to 
see Lucy?" 

"Just for a few moments; she'll be busy with her 


Uncle Gilbert went in the house, considerately 
sending her out alone. She was radiantly beautiful 
to Chester that morning in her soft white dress, 
fluffy hair, and glowing eyes ; but he only looked his 
love for her, and said : 

''Good morning, Sister Strong." 

''Good morning. Brother Lawrence," she re- 

"How are you feeling?" 

"I am feeling fine. But poor papa — " 

"Yes; Uncle Gilbert told me." 

"We'll have to remain here until he gets over the 
attack. Uncle is anxious to get home, and I must 
admit I'd rather be at Kildare Villa than here." 

Then Uncle Gilbert came out with hat and cane. 
He was going for a walk with Chester, he said, for it 
would be wiser not to disturb the sleeper. He ex- 
plained to Lucy that her father was getting a much 
needed rest, and that she was to see to it that he 
was not disturbed. Chester would "keep" with his 
Uncle Gilbert for a few hours. 

The morning was fair, so the two men struck out 
for Hyde Park. They walked across the big stretches 
of grass, then rested on a seat by the Serpentine. As 
yet, not many people were about, and the London 
hum had not risen to its highest pitch. 

Uncle Gilbert wanted to know about Utah, and 
Chester entered into a detailed description of the 
state and her people. 

"I have, of course, heard of the Mormon people; 
but I will admit my ideas are somewhat vague. My 

\ da 


brother, as a preacher, must of course, have come 
in contact with all sorts of religious professions. He 
seems to know considerable about Mormonism. 
Where did he learn that?'' 

Chester explained what part Lucy had played in 

"Well, he agrees very much with her belief, for 
I have heard conversations which lead me to 
that conclusion. Of course, all that is their business, 
not mine particularly. Let's walk out in the middle of 
the park where we can make believe we are not in 
London, but out in the beautiful green country which 
God has made." 

The grass being dry, they could sit down on it 
to rest. 

"As you are, I presume, to become a member of 
the family some day," said Uncle Gilbert, "I am 
going to tell you something about my brother. If is 
not a pleasant subject, but I have concluded that 
you can be told. It is a family secret, you must un- 
derstand, and must be treated as such. It is only 
because I believe your knowledge of the truth may 
help my brother that I am telHng you this. 

Chester thanked him for his confidence. He would 
be glad to help in any way he could. 

"Well, the story is this : My brother in his younger 
days before he was married, had an unfortunate ex- 
perience with a young woman. There was a child 
as the result. The woman, as nearly as I can make 
out, married well enough, andjater, joined the Mor- 
mons and went to Utah. She did not take the child 


with her, for some reason unknown to me, at least; 
and so the boy — for it was a boy — became lost to his 
father, and as far as I know, to his mother also. I 
don't suppose all this worried my brother as a young 
man; but recentl}^ within the past few years, I 
should say, his conscience seems to have pricked him 
severely. He has some vigorous views of fatherhood 
and the obligations flowing therefrom — and I can't 
say but he is right — and now he worries about his 
ow^n great neglect. He has talked to me about it, 
so I know. Sometimes he worries himself sick, and 
then his nervous trouble gets the overhand." 

Chester lay on the grass looking up into the sky, 
complacently chewing a spear of grass, while Uncle 
Gilbert was talking. 

''What was the woman's name?" asked Chester. 

"1 can't recall it just now. In fact, I don't think 
I ever heard it. Now, another thing that you must 
know, and you must not be annoyed at this : at times, 
I believe he imagines 3'ou to be that boy of his." 

Chester sat up, and exactly at the moment when 
he looked into the face of Uncle Gilbert a cog in the 
machinery of his own thoughts caught into a cog of 
the wheel within wheels which the man at his side 
had been revealing. The cog caught, then slipped, 
then caught again. Wheels began to revolve, bring- 
ing into motion and view other possible develop- 

'That's only when his illness makes him deleri- 
ous," continued Uncle Gilbert. "As I said, you must 


pay no attention to him under those conditions, but 
I thought you ought to know." 

''Yes; yes," whispered the young man — 'Thank 
you." For him, Hyde Park and London had dis- 
appeared: all earthly things had become mist out 
of which he was trying to emerge. 

"You don't know the woman's name," Chester 
asked again, with dry lips — "Tell me her name." 

'T don't remember. I'm not sure, but I believe I 
have heard my brother, in his times of delerium speak 
of Anna." 

"Anna. Anna," repeated Chester, as he stared 
into space. Uncle Gilbert looked at the young man, 
and then repented of telling him. He was a little 
annoyed at his manner. He arose, brushed the 
grass from his clothes, and said : 

"Well, let's be going." 

Chester went along mechanically. At the Marble 
Arch Uncle Gilbert was about to hail a bus, when 
Chester stopped him. 

"You'll excuse me, wont you for not returning 
with you — I — I — " 

"But I gave my word to Lucy that I would bring 
you back." 

"Yes; I know, I'll come after a while — but not 
now — you go on, — I — I — there's your bus now\; you 
had better take it." 

Uncle Gilbert, still a little annoyed, climbed on the 
bus and left his companion looking vacantly at the 
line of moving busses. 


Chester went back into the park. There was room 
to breathe there and some freedom from fellow 
beings. He left the beaten paths. Oh, that he could 
get away from everybody for a time ! Old Thunder 
out among the Rocky Mountains would be an ideal 
place just now. 

The wheels of thought went surely and correctly. 
There was no slipping of cogs now. The Rev. 
Thomas Strong zvas his father. 

Every link in the chain of evidence fitted. There 
was no break. He went over the ground a&;ain and 
again. There came to him now facts and incidents 
which he had heard from his foster parents, and they 
all fitted in other facts and strengthened his conclu- 
sions. Now he also remembered and understood 
some of his mother's remarks about ministers. Yes, 
r^~Thomas Strong was his father! Lucy's father! 
V Why, he and Lucy were brother and sister ! 

It is quite useless to try to tell all that was in 
Chester Lawrence's thoughts and heart from then on 
all that afternoon. He did not know, neither did he 
care how long he lay on the grass in the park, but 
there came a time when his solitude became unbear- 
able, so he walked with feverish haste into the 
crowded streets. The lamps were being lighted when 
he came to the Thames Embankment, where he 
watched for a time the black, sluggish water being 
sucked out to sea by the outgoing tide. Then he 
walked on. St. Paul loomed high in the murky dark- 
ness. He got into the ridiculously narrow streets of 
Paternoster Row, where he had on his first visit 


bought a Bible. The evening was far spent and the 
crowds were thinning when he recognized the Bank 
of England corner. 

Realizing at last that he was tired, he climbed on 
top of a bus going in the direction of his lodgings, 
where he arrived somewhere near midnight. He went 
to bed, but not to sleep for many hours. 

**Lucy, you are my sister. I love you as that — but 
my wife you never can be — " yes ; he would have to 
tell her that. But why had this father of his let 
him and Lucy go on as they had? He had told his 
father the secret of his life. He remembered dis- 
tinctly his father's actions how he had even called 
him ''son," which he had thought at the time was 
for Lucy's sake. Knowing him and Lucy to be 
brother and sister, why had he permitted them to 
form ties such as had been formed ? Was it a plot on 
his father's part to again bring misery to human 
souls, to make to suffer those that were of his own 
flesh and blood ? No, no ; that was impossible. Surely 
he was not that kind of man. 

More clearly now the panorama of his life came 
before him. Where was the Lord in all this? He 
had thought the Lord had led his steps wonder- 
fully to so meet one who made his life supremely 
happy — but now — the darkness and the despair of 
soul came again — was this not a hideous night- 
mare? The day would bring light and peace. 

Towards morning, Chester dozed fitfully, and at 
last when he awoke the day was well advanced. He 
and I'nc-e Gilbert had been in the park — uncle in 


reality now. Yes ; it all come to him again. It had 
been no dream. 

Chester got up, soused himself in cold water, then 
as he was dressing said to himself. ''Well, what's 
to be done? ''I must make this thing sure one way 
or another." Perhaps there may be a mistake, 
though he could not understand how. He would 
go direct to Thomas Strong and ask him. 

He had no appetite for breakfast, so he ate none. 
As early as he thought wise, he set out. How 
should he meet Lucy? AAHiat could he say? If he 
could only evade her. 

No ; Lucy was watching for him, with a worried 
expression on her face, which deepened when she 
saw Chester's. 

"I must see your father," he said with no effort 
to even take her hand. 

"Papa is not any better, I fear." 

"But I must see him. Where is Uncle Gilbert?" 

"Shall I call him?" 

"Yes, please/' 

Lucy returned, and Uncle Gilbert met Chester 
in the hall. 

"He is very nervous again this morning, and I 
don't think you ought to excite him," explained the 

"I must see him — just for a minute. I'll not en- 
gage him in any extended conversation." 

"That you cannot do as he can hardly speak. 
His trouble afifects him in that way." 


"Let me see him just for a moment — alone, please. 
Ts he awake?" 

"Oh yes; he's not that bad. Go in a moment, 
then, but be careful." 

Chester passed in wher^ the minister sat in an 
arm chair, propped up with pillows, signs of Lucy's 
tender care. As Chester entered, the man smiled 
and reached out his hand. The resentment in the 
young man's heart vanished, when he saw the yearn- 
ing in the suffering man's face. Yet he stood for 
some time rooted to the spot, looking at the man 
who was no doubt his father. Every line of that 
face stood out boldly to Chester. How often, in 
his boyhood days he had pictured to himself what 
his father was like — and here he was before him. 
In those days he had nursed a hatred against that 
unknown sire, but now there was no more of that. 
If only, — Chester kneeled by the side of the minis- 
ter's chair, letting the old man cling to his hand. He 
looked without wavering into the drawn face and 
said : 

"Are 3'ou my father?" 

"The man's hand dropped as if lifeless, but Ches- 
ter picked it up again, holding it close. 

"Tell me, he repeated, "are you my father?" 
"Yes," came slowly and with effort, as trem- 
blingly the father put his hands first on Chester's 
shoulders as he kneeled before him, then raised them 
to his head, asking, "Do — you — hate — me? Don't 
— " That seemed to be all he was able to articulate. 



"No, no ; I do not hate you ; for are you not — are 
you not my father!" 


The son put his arms around his father's neck and 
kissed him. The father patted contentedly the head 
of the young man, as a parent fondly caresses a 
child. They were in that position when Lucy tapped 
lightlv on the door, opened it, and came in. 


Chester got away from Lucy and Uncle Gilbert 
that morning, without betraying his father's secret, 
which had now also become his own. If his father 
had kept the secret so long, it was evidently for a 
purpose; he w^ould try not to be the first to reveal 
it. He kissed Lucy somewhat hurriedly, she 
thought, as he left. 

The sooner he got away the fewer of his strange 
actions he would have to explain. He did not look 
back when he walked away for fear that Lucy would 
be watching him from window or door. 

He went back to his own lodgings rather more 
by instinct than by thought. He slipped into his 
room, looked aimlessly about, then went out again. 
He must be alone, yet not confined within walls. 
The park was not far away, but he walked by it also. 
on, on. This London is limitless, he thought. One 
could never escape it by walking. He met other men 
some hurrying as if stern duty called, others saunt- 
ering as if they had no purpose in life but quiet 
contemplation. He met women, and if he could 
have read through their weary eyes their life's story, 
he would not perhaps, have thought his own was the 
most cruel. A little boy was gathering dust from 
the pavement, and Chester was reminded of that 
other little fellow's structure which the carriage 
wheels had demolished, ^^^ell. he was under the 


wheel of fate himself. He had heard of this wheel, 
but never had he been under it until now ! 

Chester found himself a street or two from the 
mission office. He would call and perhaps have a 
talk with Elder Malby. Why had he not thought 
of that sooner? He quickened his steps, and in a 
few minutes he was ringing the bell. He heard it 
tingle within, but no one responded. He rang 
again, and this time steps were heard coming up 
from the basement. The housekeeper opened the 

"Good morning," she greeted him with a smile. 

''Good morning, is Elder Malby in?" 

"No; none of the elders are in. They are out 
tracting, I think — but won't you come in?" 

"No, thank you, I wanted to see Elder Malby." 

"Well, he might be back at any time — come in 
and rest. You look tired. 

"Well— I believe I will." 

He followed the motherly housekeeper into the 
office parlor, where she bade him be seated. She 
excused herself as her work could not be neglected — 
Would he be interested in the London papers, or the 
latest Deseret Nezvs. She pointed to the table where 
these papers lay, then went about her work. 

Chester looked listlessly at the papers, but did not 
attempt to read. Presently, the housekeeper came 

"I'm having a bite to eat down in the dining room. 
Come and keep me company. The Elders don't eat 


till later, but I must have something in the middle 
of the day." 

Chester went with her into the cool, restful room 
below, and partook with her of the simple meal. 
Not having- had breakfast, he ate with relish. Besides, 
there was a spirit of peace about the place. His 
aching heart found some comfort in the talk of the 
good woman. 

Shortly afterwards. Elder Malby arrived, and he 
saw in a moment that something was the matter with 
his young friend. 

"How are the folks," he asked, "Lucy and her 

"He is not well," Chester replied. 

"That's too bad. And you are worried?" 

"Yes; but not altogether over that. There is 
something else. Brother Malby. I'll have to tell you 
about it. Will we be uninterrupted here?" 

"Come with me," said the elder and he took him 
into his own room up a flight of stairs. "Now, then, 
what can I do to help you?" 

"You will pardon me, I know ; but somehow, I 
was led to tell you my story on ship-board, and 
you're the only one I can talk to now." Then Ches- 
ter told the elder what he had learned. When he 
had finished, the elder's face was very grave. 

"What ought I to do?" asked Chester; "what can 
I do?" 

The other shook his head. "This is a strange 
story," he said ; "but there can be no doubt that you 
are his son. You look like him. I noticed it on 


ship-board, but of course said nothing about it. But 
you do look like him." 


"Yes; but why he encouraged you to make love 
to your sister — that is beyond me — I — I don't know 
what to say." 

"Oh, what can I do?" 

There was a pause. Then the elder as if weigh- 
ing well every word, said : 

"My boy, you can pray." 

"No; I can't even do that. I haven't said my 
prayers since this thing came to me. What can I 
pray about? What can I ask of God?" 

"Listen. It is easy to pray when everything is 
going along nicely, and we are getting everything 
we ask for ; but when we seem to be up against hard 
fate; when despair is in our hearts and the Lord ap- 
pears to have deserted us, then it is not so easy; but 
then is when w^e need most to pray." 

"Yes, yes, brother, true enough; but what's the 

"Look here, once before, in your life, you felt as 
you do now ; and you told me yourself that not until 
you said both in your heart and to God *Thy will be 
done' did you get peace. Try it again, brother. 
There is no darkness but the Light of Christ can 
penetrate, there is no seeming evil but the Lord can 
turn to your good. What did Job say of the Lord ?" 

"I don't know." 

" Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.' 
And you are not yet as Job. He lost everything. 


You have gained a father and a sister. That, cer- 
tainly, is something." 

*'Yes, it is ; and yet in the finding of these two, I 
have lost — well — you know — " 

"Yes; I know; but the Lord can even make that 
right. Trust Him, trust Him, always and in every- 
thing. That's my motto for life. I can not get 
along without it." 

''Thank you so very much." 

They talked for some time, then they went out for 
a walk. 

"But you haven't time to spend on me like this/' 
remonstrated Chester. 

"I am here to do all the good I can, and why 
should my services not be given to those of the faith 
as well as to those who have no use for me nor my 
message? Come along; I want to tell you of an- 
other letter which I received from home, — yes, the 
twin calves are doing fine." 

Chester smiled, which was just what his com- 
panion wanted. "You remain here today," con- 
tinued the elder. "The boys will be in after a while, 
and then we shall have dinner. After that, if you 
are still thinking too much of your own affairs, we'll 
take you out on the street and let you preach to the 

"That might help," admitted Chester. 

"Help! It's the surest kind of cure." 

Chester remained with the elders during the aft- 
ernoon and evening, even going out with them on 
the street. He was not called on to preach, how- 


ever, though he would have attempted it had he been 

Chester slept better that night. He felt so sure of 
himself next morning that he could call on Lucy, 
and do the right thing. He did not forget or neg- 
lect his prayers any more, and he wsls well on the 
way of saying again, "Thy will be done," in the 
right spirit. 

Uncle Gilbert met Chester at the door, not very 
graciously, however. He replied to Chester's in- 
quiries sharply : 

*'My brother is quite ill, brought about, I have no 
doubt, by 3^our unwise actions of yesterday morning. 
What was the matter with you ? I don't understand 

Chester did not attempt any explanation or de- 

''And Lucy, too, was quite ill yesterday — no; she 
is not up yet — no ; I don't think 3^ou had better come 
in. I shall not permit you to see my brother again 
until he is better." 

"I'm very sorry," said Chester. "I must see 
Lucy, however, and so I'll call again after a while." 
He walked away. He did not blame L^ncle Gilbert, 
who was no doubt doing the best he knew, although 
somewhat in the dark. He walked in the park for 
an hour and then came back. 

Lucy met him at the gate. She was dressed as if 
for walking. Her face betrayed the disturbance in 
lier soul, and Chester's heart went out in pity for her. 

"Yes," she said simply, "I was going out to find 


you, I heard Uncle Gilbert send you away. Shall 
we walk in the park?" 

"Yes; I am glad you came out. Is your father 
worse this morning?" 

'T don't think he is worse. He is simply in the 
stage of his attacks when he can't talk. I'm sure 
he'll be all right in a day or two ; but Uncle Gilbert 
don't understand." 

"And you, Lucy — you must not worry." 

"How can I help it? Something is the matter 
with you. Why do you act so strangely?" 

They found the bench on which they were wont 
to rest, and seated themselves. 

Chester could not deny that he had changed; yet 
how could he tell her the truth ? She must know it, 
the sooner the better. It might be many days before 
her father could tell her, even if he were inclined to 
do so. The situation was unbearable. She must 
know, and he must tell her. 

"Lucy," he said after a little struggle with his 
throat, "I have something to tell you, — something 
strange. Oh, no, nothing evil or bad, or anything 
like that." 

He took her hands which were trembling. 

"You must promise me that you will take this 
news quietly." 

"Just as quietly as I can, Chester." 

"Well, you know how excitement affects your 
heart, so I shall not tell vou if you will not try to be 

"And now, of course, I can be indifferent, can I, 


even if you should say no more ? Oh, Chester, what 
is it? The suspense is a thousand times harder than 
the truth. What have you got to tell me? What 
passed between you and papa last evening? Is it — 
have you ceased to love me?" 

"No, no, Lucy, not that. I love you as much as 
ever, more than ever for something has been added 
to my first love — that of a love for a sister." 

''Yes, Chester I know. When I was baptized — " 

"No; you don't know. I don't mean that?" 

"What do you mean?" 

Oh, it was so hard to go on. One truth must lead 
to another. If he told her he was her brother in the 
flesh as well as in the spirit, she would want to know 
how, why ; and the explanation ' would involve her 
father. He had not thought of that quite so plainly. 
But he could not now stop. He must go on. He 
felt about for a way by which to approach the revela- 
tion gradually. 

"You have never had a brother, have you?" he 


"Would you like to have one?" 

"I've always wanted a brother." 

"How would I do for one?" 

She looked at him curiously, then the sober face 
relaxed and she smiled. 

"Oh, you'd make a fine one." 

"You wouldn't object." 

"I should think not." 


"But, now, what would you think if I was your 
real brother, if my name was Chester Strong?" 

"I'd think you were just joking a little." 

"But Fm not joking, Lucy ; I am in earnest. Take 
a good look at me, here at this profile. Do I look 
like your father ?" 

She looked closely. "I believe you do," she said, 
still without a guess at the truth. "Your forehead 
slopes just like his, and your nose has the same bump 
on it. I never noticed that before." 

"What might that mean, Lucy ?" 

"What might what mean?" 

"That I look like your father." 

He had turned his face to her now, but she still 
gazed at him, as if the truth was just struggling for 
recognition. The smile vanished for an instant 
from her face, and then returned. She would not 
entertain the advance messenger. 

"I don't object to your looking like my papa, for 
he's a mighty fine looking man." 

"Lucy, you saw what your father and I were doing 
last night?" 


"What did you think — what do you now think 
of us?" 

"Again, Chester, I don't object to you and father 
spooning a bit. In fact, I think that's rather nice." 

Chester laughed a little now, which loosened the 
tension considerably ; but he returned to the attack : 

"Lucy, what would you think if your father had 


a son who had been lost when a baby, and that now 
he should return to him as a grown man?" 

"Well, I would think that would be jolly, as the 
English say." 

''And that hi^ son's name was Chester Law- 
rence?" he continued as if there had been no inter- 

Now the cog in Lucy's mental make-up caught 
firmly into the machinery that had been buzzing 
about her for some time. 

"Are you my brother?" she asked. 

"Yes; I am your brother." 

"My real, live, long lost brother?" 


"Now I see what you have been driving at all this 
time. You say you are my brother, that my father 
is your father. Now explain." 

"That's not so easy, Lucy. I would much rather 
your father would do that. But I can tell you a 
little, for it's very little I know — and, Lucy, that 
little is not pleasant." 

"But I must know." Her face was serious again. 
She was bracing herself bravely too. 

"I was born outside the marriage relation, and 
your father was my father !" 

That was plain enough — brutally plain. The girl 
turned to marble. Had he killed her? 
"Go on," she whispered. 
"No more now — some other time." 
"Go on, Chester." 


Chester told her in brief sentences the simple facts, 
and what had led to his discovery of the truth just 
the other day. It was this that had caused the 
change she had noticed in him. 

"Lucy, I was not sure," he said, "so I went to 
your father last night and asked him pointedly, di- 
rectly, and he said 'Yes.' That explains the situa- 
tion you found us in. My heart went out to my 
father, Lucy: and his heart went out to his son." 

*'The son to which his heart has been reaching for 
many long years, Chester. Yes, I see it plainly. 
* * * You have told the truth ^ ^ ^ you 
are my brother — you — " 

She trembled, then fell into his arms: but she con- 
trolled herself again, and when he kissed her pale 
face and stroked her hair, she opened her eyes and 
looked steadily up into his face. Thus they remained 
for a time, heedless of the few passers-by who but 
looked at a not uncommon sight. She closed her 
eyes again, and when she opened them Chester was 
struggling hard to keep back the tears. 

To tell the truth, both of them cried a little about 
that time, and it did them good too. They got up, 
walked about on the grass for a time until they could 
look more unmovedly at their changed standing to 
each other. Then they talked more freely, but things 
were truly so newly mixed that it was difficult to get 
them untangled. At last Lucy said she would have 
to go back to her father — our father, she corrected. 

"And he knows, remember," said Chester to her. 
"I and vou also know. We know too." he added. 


"that the Lord is above, and will take care of us all." 

*'Yes/' said Lucy. 

Then they went back. The father was still very 
ill. Chester did not try to see him, for Uncle Gilbert 
had not relented. 

'T'm going to see Elder Malby this afternoon," 
said Chester. ''This evening I shall call again. 
Meanwhile" — they were alone in the hall now — ''you 
must keep up your courage and faith. I feel as 
though everything will yet turn out well." 

He took her as usual in his arms, and she clung to 
him closer than she had ever done before. 

Chester," she said, "I can't yet feel that there is 
any difference in our relationship. You are yet my 
lover, are you not?" 

"Yes, Lucy; and you are my sweetheart. Some- 
how, I am not condemned when I say it. What can 
it be—" 

"Something that whispers peace to our hearts." 

"The Comforter, Lucy, the Comforter from the 


The delay in getting back to Kildare Villa was 
making Uncle Gilbert nervous. In his own mind, 
he blamed Chester Lawrence for being the cause of 
much of the present trouble, though in what way he 
could not clearly tell. The young man's presence 
disturbed the usual placid life of the minister. \Miy 
such a disturber should be so welcomed into the fam- 
ily, the brother could not understand. Perhaps this 
new-fangled religion called "Mormonism" was at 
the root of all the trouble. 

In his confusion. Uncle Gilbert determined on a 
very foolish thing: he would get his brother and 
Lucy away with him to Ireland, leaving Chester be- 
hind, for at least a few days. Of course, a young 
fellow in love as deeply as Chester seemed to be, 
would follow up and find them again, but there would 
be a respite for a time. With this idea in mind. 
Uncle Gilbert, the very next day, found Chester at 
his lodgings ; and apparently taking him into his con- 
fidence, told him of his plan. - Chester was willing to 
do anything that Uncle Gilbert and ''the others" 
thought would be for the best. Chester was made to 
understand that ''the others" agreed to the plan, and 
although the thought sent a keen pang through the 
young man's heart, he did not demur. 

It must also be admitted that Uncle Gilbert was 
not quite honest with Lucy, for when he proposed to 


her to get her father to Ireland as soon as possible, 
she understood that Chester was lawfully detained, 
but would meet them perhaps in Liverpool. Though 
she, too, felt keenly the parting, yet she mistrusted 
no one. 

So it came about that Lucy and her father were 
hurried to the station early next morning to catch 
a train for Liverpool. The minister was physically 
strong enough to stand the journey, but he mutely 
questioned the reason for this hasty move. Chester 
had absented himself all the previous day, and he 
did not even see them off at the station. Lucy could 
not keep back the tears, though she tried to hide 
them as she tucked her father comfortably about with 
cushions in the first class compartment which they 
had reserved. 

Uncle Gilbert's victory was short lived, however; 
no sooner did the ailing man realize that Chester was 
not with them than he become visibly affected. He 
tried hard to talk, but to no avail. He looked plead- 
ingly at Lucy and at his brother as if for information, 
but without results. Lucy's pinched, tear-stained 
face added to his restlessness, and there was a note 
of insincerity in Uncle Gilbert's reassuring talk that 
his brother did not fail to discern. 

That ride, usually so pleasant over the beautiful ^ 
green country, was a most miserable one. It was so 
painful to see the expression on the minister's face 
that Uncle Gilbert began to doubt the wisdom of the 
plan he was trying. Lucy became quite alarmed, 
and asked if they ought not to stop at one of the 



midland cities; but Uncle Gilbert said they could 
surely go on to Liverpool. 

"But we can't cross over to Ireland. Father could 
not possibly stand the trip," she said. 

The uncle agreed to that. "We'll have to stop at 
Liverpool for a day or so — I have it!" he exclaimed, 
"Captain Andrew Brown is now at home. He told 
me to be sure to call, and bring you all with me. He 
has a very nice house up tlie Mersey — a fine restful 
place. W^e'll go there." 

And they did. Lucy could say nothing for or 
against, and the father was so ill by the time they 
reached Liverpool that he did not seem to realize 
what he was doing or where he was going. A cab 
took them all out from the noises of the city to the 
quiet of the countryside. It was afternoon, and the 
sun shone slantingly on the waters of the river, above 
which on the hills amid trees and flowering gardens 
stood the house of Captain Andrew Brown. 

As the carriage rolled along the graveled path to 
the house, the captain himself came to meet them, 
expressing his surprise and delight, and welcoming 
them most heartily. The minister was helped out 
and into the house, where he was made comfortable. 
Lucy was shown to her room by the housekeeper. 
Uncle Gilbert made explanations to the captain of the 
reason for this untoward raid on his hospitality. 

'T'm mighty glad you came," said the captain. 
"You couldn't possible have gone on, and as for 
stopping at a hotel — if you had. I should never have 
forgiven you." 



The sick man would not take anything to eat. He 
lay as if half asleep, so he was put to bed. Lucy 
remained with him during the evening. Once in a 
while he would open his eyes, reach out his hand 
for hers and hold it for a moment. Poor, dear 
father, she thought, as she stroked his hair softly. 
What could Chester mean to leave his father, even 
for a few days? He ought to be here. * * * 
She could not understand. Was it all just an excuse 
to get away from them ? to get away from this newly- 
found father and sister ? She would not believe that 
of Chester. That couldn't be true, and yet, and yet — 

She turned lower the light, went to the window, 
and looked out on the river. A crescent moon hung 
above the mist. The water lay still as if asleep, only 
broken now and then by some passing craft. The 
breeze played in the trees near the window and the 
perfumes of the rich flower beds were wafted to her. 
The girl stood by the window a long time as if she 
expected her lover-brother to come to her through 
the half darkness. Perhaps, after all, it was better 
he did not come. Perhaps he had acted wisley. 

The father lay as if sleeping, so she continued to 
look out at the moon and the water. Her heart 
burned, but out of it came a prayer. Then she quietly 
kneeled by the window sill, and still looking out into 
the night she poured out the burden of her heart to 
the Father whose power to bless and to comfort is 
as boundless as the love of parent for child. 

Captain Brown was not an old man, yet in his fine 
strong face there were deep lines traced by twenty 


years on the sea. Ten years on the bridge basking 
in the sun, facing storm and danger had told their 
tale. He was in the employ of a great navigation 
company whose ships went to the ends of the earth 
for trade. He had built this home-nest for wife and 
child, to which and to whom he could set the compass 
of his heart from any port and on any sea. Three 
years ago wife and child had taken passage over the 
eternal sea. Now he came back only occasionally, 
between trips. His housekeeper always kept the 
house as nearly as possible like it was when wife and 
child were there. 

'T have a week, perhaps ten days ashore," ex- 
plained Captain Brown next morning at the break- 
fast table, "and I was just wondering what I could 
do all that time — when here you are! You are to 
remain a week. Tut, tut, business" — this to Uncle 
Gilbert who had protested — ''you ought not to worry 
any longer about business. Aren't we making you 
good money? Oh, I see! Aunt Sarah; well, we'll 
send for her. Your father can't possibly be moved, 
can he. Miss Lucy?" 

"He's very comfortable here," replied Lucy. 

"To be sure he is — and you. too, look as though a 
rest w^ould help you." 

"I have to get back soon — ought to be in Cork to- 
morrow, in fact," said Uncle Gilbert. 

"Well, now Gilbert, if you have to, I've no more to 
say — about you. Go, of course; but Lucy and her 
father are going to stay with me. I'm the doctor 
and the nurse. You go to Aunt Sarah, for that's 


your 'business reason' and it's all right — I'm not 
blaming you — and in a week come back for your 
well brother." 

"Yes, that might do," agreed Uncle Gilbert, with 
much relief in his manner of saying it. 'T don't like 
to impose on you — " 

''Look here — if you want to do me a favor, you 
go to your wife and let me take care of these people. 
In fact," he laughed, "1 don't want you around both- 
ering. The steamer sails for Dublin this evening." 

Out of this pleasant banter came the fact that 
Uncle Gilbert could very well go on his way to Ire- 
land. His brother was in no immediate danger — in 
fact that morning he was resting easily and his power 
of speech was returning. Gilbert spoke to his brother 
about the plan, and no protest was made. So that 
evening, sure enough, Uncle Gilbert was driven in to 
Liverpool by the captain, where he set sail for home. 

No sooner was his brother well out of the way 
than Lucy's father called to her. He had been up 
and dressed all afternoon. He was now reclining in 
the captain's easy chair by the window. Lucy came 
to him. 

"Yes, father," she said. 

He motioned to her to sit down. She fetched a 
stool and seated herself by him, so that he could 
touch her head caressingly as he seemed to desire. 

"Where is Chester?" he asked slowly, as was his 
wont when his speech came back. 

"In London," she replied. "He could not come 
with us." 


''So — Gilbert said; — but I — want him." 

''Shall we send for him?" 


The father looked out of the window where shortly 
the moon would again shine down on the river. He 
stroked the head at his knee. 

"Lucy, you — love me?" 

"Oh, father, dear daddy, what a question!" 

"I — must — tell you — something — should — have 
told you — long ago — " 

It was difficult for the man to speak; more so, it 
appeared, because he was determined to deliver a 
message to the girl — something that could not wait, 
but must be told now. Impatient of his slow speech, 
he walked to the table and seated himself by it. 

"Light," he said ; and while Lucy brought the lamp 
and lighted it he found pencil and paper. She 
watched him curiously, wondering what was about 
to happen. Was he writing a message to Chester? 

From the other side of the table she w^atched him 
write slowly and laboriously until the page was full. 
Then he paused, looked up at Lucy opposite, reached 
for another sheet and began again. That sheet was 
also filled, and the girl's wonder grew. Then he 
pushed them across the table, saying, "Read ;" and 
while she did so, he turned from her. his head bowed 
as if awaiting a sentence of punishment. 

A little cry came from the reader as her eyes ran 
along the penciled lines. Then there was silence, 
broken only by her hard breathing, and the ticking 


of the clock on the mantel. Then while the father 

still sat with bowed head, the girl arose softly, came 

up to him, kneeled before him, placed a hand on each 

of his cheeks, kissed him, and said : 

V-"" ^'You are my father anyway — always have been, 

' always will be — the only one I have ever known. 

Thank you for taking me an outcast, orphaned baby 

, and adopting me as your own. Oh, I love you daddy 

for that! 

^Just a few days before a son had found a father 
at this man's knee ; now by the same knee Lucy first 
realized that this man was her father only in the 
fact that he had fathered her from a child; but as 
that, after all, is what counts most in this world, she 
thought none the less of him ; rather, her heart went 
out to the man in a way unknown before. 

"Chester doesn't know this?" she asked. "Ches- 
ter is not my brother?" 


"Oh, he must know this — he must know right 
away," she panted. 

"Yes — I meant to tell — but I couldn't — " said he. 

"I know daddy dear ; I know, don't worry. We'll 
send for him right away — poor boy. There's Cap- 
tain Brown now. I'll run down and ask him to send 
a telegram. Yes, I have his address." 

She kissed him again, holding his head between 
her palms, and saying softly, "Daddy, dear daddy." 
Then she sped down to where the Captain was talk- 
ing in the hall. The Rev. Thomas Strong looked up, 
listened to their conversation, and then smiled. 




The reason why Chester permitted Lucy and his 
father to set out for Ireland without him was because 
he trusted Uncle Gilbert — and the Lord; however, 
it was no easy matter to be thus left behind. Surely, 
he would be more of a help than a hindrance on the 
journey. He forced himself to lie abed the morning 
they were to be off, until after the train left. Then, 
knowing he was safe from doing that which his 
Uncle had desired him not to do, he leisurely arose, 
very late for breakfast. 

The problem with the young man now was what 
to do while he was waiting. London sights, even 
those he had not seen before, were tame now. The 
newly-found father and sister had already left him. 
Had it not been a dream, and was he not now awake 
to the reality of his old life? 

He found himself once more attracted to the Mis- 
sion headquarters. Elder Malby was at home that 
morning. Chester told him the latest development. 

"Has she — have they — deserted me, do you 
think?" asked Chester. 

"No — I don't think so," replied the elder thought- 
fully. "Lucy did not impress me as a girl who 
would do that. I see no reason for such actions, 
but perhaps Uncle Gilbert was right. Your father 
needed to get away from you to readjust himself to 
the new condition." 



"Well, perhaps, — but what can I now do? this 
waiting will be terrible." 

"You'll come with me this morning. I have some 
calls to make." 

And so all that day Chester remained with Elder 
Malby, visiting Saints and investigators, adjusting 
difficulties, and explaining principles of the gospel. 
It was a splendid thing for the young man, this get- 
ting his thoughts from self; and before evening, he 
had obtained so much of the missionary spirit that 
he asked to be permitted to bear his testimony at 
the street meeting. "The louder the mob howls and 
interrupts, the better for me," he declared. "You 
remember the other evening when a young fellow 
stood within a few feet of you and kept repeating: 
'Liars, liars, from Utah'?" 

"Yes; I remember." 

"I'd like to talk to that fellow tonight." 

So Chester talked at the street-meeting that eve- 
ning, but to a very orderly lot of people. After the 
services, many pressed around him and asked him 
questions. One young man walked with him and 
the elders to the mission office. They talked on the 
gospel, and Chester forgot his own heartache in min- 
istering to another heart hungering for the truth. 

The next morning, Chester tried again to remain 
in bed, but this time without success. He was up 
in the gray awakening city, walking in the park, 
listening to the birds near by and the rumbling be- 
ginnings of London life. After breakfast, he went 
again to the Church office. 


"You must excuse me for thus being such a 
bother," he explained to Elder Malby, ''but — but I 
can't keep away." 

*T hope you never will," replied the elder, encour- 
agingly. 'Tt is when men like you keep away that 
there is danger." 

"What's the program today?" 

"Tracting. Do you want to try?" 

"Yes ; I want to keep going. Yesterday was not 
bad. I felt fine all day." 

That afternoon Chester had his first trial in de- 
livering gospel tracts from door to door. He ap- 
proached his task timidly, but soon caught the spirit 
of the work. He had a number of interesting ex- 
periences. One old gentleman invited him into the 
house, that he might more freely tell the young man 
what he thought of him and his religion, and this 
was by no means complimentary. An old lady, 
limping to the door and learning that the caller w^as 
from America, told him she had a son there — and 
did he know him ? Then there were doors slammed 
in his face, and some gracious smiles and "thank 
you" — altogether Chester was so busy meeting these 
various people that he had no time to worry over 
those who now should be nearly to Kildare Villa in 
green Ireland. 

While he was eating supper with the elders, which 
Elder Malby said he had well earned, a messenger 
came to the door. Was one Chester Lawrence 
there ? Yes. 

"A telegram for him, please." 


Chester opened the message and read : 

"Come to Liverpool in morning. All well. Tell 
me when and where to meet you — Lucy." 

Chester handed the message to Elder Malby. 

''Once more, don't you see," said the elder, smil- 
ing, "all is well." 

"Yes; yes," replied Chester in a way which was 
more of a prayer of thanksgiving than common 

Early the following morning Captain Brown was 
rewarded for his gallant lack of inquisitiveness re- 
garding the sending and the receiving of telegrams 
by Lucy coming to him with her sweetest smile and 
saying : 

"Captain Brown, was that horse and carriage you 
used yesterday yours?" 

"Oh no ; that belongs to my neighbor — only when 
I am not using it. Do you wish a drive this morn- 

"I want to meet the noon train from London at 
Lime Street Station ; and if it wouldn't be too much 

"Not at all. My neighbor is very glad to have 
me exercise the horse a bit. Can you drive him 

"I'm a little nervous." 

"Will I do for coachman?" 

"If you would. Captain?" 

"Then that's settled. I'll go immediately and 
make arrangements;" which he did. 


"Papa," said Lucy to her father, "the captain will 
drive me to the station. You'll be all right until we 
get back?" 

"All right, yes; don't worry more about me. I'm 
getting strong faster than I ever did before. See." 

He paced back and forth with considerable vim in 
his movements. "Why," he contiued, stopping in 
front of Lucy and kissing her gently on the cheek, 
'T feel better right now than I have for a long time 
— better inside, you know." 

Lucy did not understand exactly what he meant 
by the "inside," but she did not puzzle her head 
about it. She was happy to know that her father 
was so well and that Chester was speeding to her. 
The day promised to be fair, and the drive to the 
station would be delightful. She was looking out 
of the window. 

"Lucy," said her father, placing his hand on her 
shoulder, "you need not tell Captain Brown the little 
secrets you have learned; and I think your Uncle 
Gilbert need not know any more than he does. It is 
just as well for all concerned that these things re- 
main to outward appearances just as they have in the 

"All right, papa." 

"We — Chester and you and I will know and un- 
derstand and be happy. What else matters ?" 

"What, indeed." 

"Now, there's the captain already. He's early; 
but perhaps he intends driving you about a bit first." 


That was just it. The morning air was so invig- 
orating, Captain Brown explained, that it was a pity 
not to feel it against one's face. He knew of a 
number of very pretty drives, round-about ways, to 
the station, and the fields were delightfully green 
just then. 

In a short time away they rattled down the grav- 
eled road, the father waving after them. It was a 
good thing, said Lucy, that strong hands had the 
reins, for the horse was full of life. They sped over 
the smooth, hedge-bordered roads, winding about 
fields and gardens until they arrived at Calderstone 
Park. Here the captain pointed out the Calder 
Stones, ruins of an ancient Druid place of worship 
or sacrifice. Then they drove leisurely through 
Sefton Park, thence townward to the station. 

They had a few moments to w^ait, during which 
the driver stroked the horse's nose, talking to him 
all the while not to be afraid of the noisy cars. The 
whistle's shrill pipe sounded and the train rolled in. 
The captain stood by his horse, while Lucy went to 
the platform, and met Chester as he leaped from 
the car. 

''Oh, ho," said the captain to his 'horse, when he 
saw the meeting. A partial explanation was given 
him of the "certain young man" whom they were 
to meet. 

The captain held the carriage door open to them 
like a true coachman. ''Take the back seat, please," 
he commanded, after the introduction ; "in these 
vehicles, the driver sits in front." 


The captain drove straight home, so in a very 
short time they were set down at the steps. 

''Go right in," he said. 'T\\ take the horse back, 
and be with you shortly." 

The housekeeper met them in the hall, took wraps 
and hats, and directed them upstairs where the ''gen- 
tleman" was waiting. Lucy had had no opportunity 
to tell Chester the secret about herself, so she would 
have to let his father do so. They walked quietly 
to the father's room and opened the door softly. He 
appeared to be sleeping in his chair, so they tip-toed 
into another room. 

"Is he better?" asked Chester. 

"Nearly well again." They did not seat them- 
selves, but stood by the table. She came close to 
him, smiling up into his face and said, ''Everything's 
all right, Chester." 

"Yes, of course," he replied. "You are looking 
so rosy and well, I forget you are an invalid." 

"Don't think of it. I'm going to live a long, long 
time, Chester — with you. Listen, dear, and don't 
look so worried. Things have changed again. I 
don't need to break good news gently, so I may tell 
you now, papa — I mean, your father, has been telling 
me something I never dreamed of — Chester, listen. 
I'm not your father's child — only by adoption — 
you're not my brother, only of course in the brother- 
hood of the faith." 

"Lucy, what are you saying?" 

"I am telling you the truth — as I was told it. He 


adopted rrtfe-as a baby — I was an orphan — I am not 
your sister. Chester — I — " 

He seized her hands, and held her at arms length, 
while his eyes seemed to devour her. She could not 
repress the tears, and when he saw them, he drew 
her close and kissed her. 

''Lucy, not my sister, but my sweetheart again, 
my little wife to be — what — does it all mean?" 

There came a loud knock at the door, and the 
father entered without being bidden. He walked 
firmly up to them, placed a hand on each shoulder, 
and said: 

''My son, I have to ask your forgiveness again. 
I intended to tell you about Lucy as soon as you 
learned the truth about yourself, but I was hindered. 
Don't think, my boy, that I would purposely cause 
you suffering. What Lucy has told you is true, and 
I am so glad that the misunderstanding and the 
mixups no longer exist between us." 

The three n®w found seats and talked over the 
new situation in which they found themselves, not 
forgetting the part Uncle Gilbert had taken in recent 
events, until the strenuous voice of Captain Brown 
had to supplement the housekeeper's bell, before the 
three would come down for luncheon. 

Those were golden days to Chester, Lucy, and the 
Rev. Thomas Strong. Out of restless uncertainty, 
doubts, fears, and heart-aching experiences they now 
had come to a period of peaceful certainty. Out of 
straits they had come to a quiet sun-kissed harbor. 

Captain Brown looked on all this happiness ap- 


provingly. His shore leave was going splendidly. 
The neighbor's horse and carriage were often 
brought into requisition, and the father would not 
be denied his share of these (Trives. The captain's 
own boat, long since unused, was put into commis- 
sion, and with the captain at the tiller the whole 
family sailed over the placid Mersy. The moon 
grew rounder, and as the evenings were warm, the 
boat often lingered in the moonlight. Then songs 
were sung, Chester and Lucy singing some which 
the father recognized as "Mormon," but which the 
captain knew only as beautiful and full of sweet 

During those days when the visitors remained 
with the captain rather more for his own sake than 
for any other reason, there was just one little cloud 
in Chester's and Lucy's sunlight. That was that 
the father took no abiding interest in the religion 
which now meant so much to them. Once or twice 
the subject had been carefully broached by Chester, 
but each time the father had not responded. He 
made no objections. The young man sometimes 
thought there would be more hope if he did. How- 
ever, he and Lucy were not discouraged. They rea- 
soned, with justice, that it was no easy matter to 
change a life-long habit of belief and practice. They 
comforted each other by the hope that all would be 
well in the end. Had they not already ample evi- 
dence of God's providence shaping all things right. 

It was plainly to be seen, however, that the father 
took great comfort in his new-found son; and well 


any father might, for Chester was a strong, open- 
spirited, clean young man. Father and son strolled 
out together, Lucy sometimes peeping at them from 
behind the curtain, but denying herself of their com- 
pany. Chester, by his father's request, told him 
more of his life's story. The father wished to live 
as much as could be by word-telling the years he had 
missed in the life of his son; and the father, for his 
part, acquainted Chester with his more recent years. 
'T married quite late in life," said the father, ''a 
sweet girl who did much for me. That we had no 
children was a great disappointment to both of us, 
and when we saw that very likely we never would 
have any of our own, we found and adopted Lucy. 
She would never have known the truth about that 
had not you come and compelled me to tell it. But 
it's all right now, and the Lord has been kinder to 
me than I deserve." 

'' 'God moves in a mysterious way, 
His wonders to perform,' " 

quoted Chester. 

" 'He plants his footsteps in the sea 
And rides upon the storm,' " 

mused the father. 

At another time the father said to Chester : 
"My boy, it would please me if you would take 
my name. You need not discard the one you already 
have, but add mine to it — yours by all that's right." 



*'Yes, father." 

'T have no great fortune, but I have saved a little, 
and when I am gone, it will be yours and Lucy's — 
I'll hear no objections to that — for can't you see, all 
tliat I can possibly do for you will only in part pay 
for the wrong I have done. You say you have no 
definite plans for the future. Then you will come 
with us to Kansas City, where I expect to take up 
again my labors in the ministry, at least for a time.'' 

Lucy came upon them at this point. 

"Chester has promised to take my name," ex- 
plained the father. 

''That will make it unnecessary for you to change 
yours," said Chester, as he put his arm around her. 

A week passed as rapidly as such golden days do. 
Chester sent the latest news to Elder Malby. Uncle 
Gilbert, always impatient, wrote from Kildare Villa, 
asking when they were ''coming home." Captain 
Brown had made a number of trips of inspection to 
the docks to see how the loading of his ship was 

At the captain's invitation they all visited the 
vessel one afternoon. 

"Why," exclaimed Lucy in surprise, when she saw 
the steamer at the dock, "you have a regular ocean 
liner here. I thought freight boats were small con- 

''Small! well, now. you know better. Come 

He led the way on deck, and then below. 

"This ship is somewhat old," explained Captain 



Brown, "but she is still staunch and seaworthy. As 
you see, she has once been a passenger boat, and in 
fact, she still carries passengers — when we can find 
some who would rather spend twelve days in com- 
fort than be rushed across in six or seven by the 
latest greyhounds. I say, when we can find such 
sensible people," repeated the captain, as he looked 
curiously at his guests. 

The dining room was spacious, the berths of the 
large, roomy kind which the grasp for economy and 
capacity had not yet cut down. 

"This is a nicer state room than I had coming 
over," declared Lucy. "Why can't we return with 
Captain Brown?" 

"I should be delighted," said the captain. "The 
booking offices are on Water Street." 

"When do you sail ?" asked the father. 

"In three days, I believe we shall be ready." 

"And your port?" 

"New York." 

"Your cargo?" 


"Any passengers?" 

"A dozen or so — plenty of room, you see. We'll 
make you comfortable, more so than on a crowded 
liner. Think about it, Mr. Strong." 

"We shall," said Lucv and her father in unison. 


And thus it came about that the party of three 
visiting with Captain Andrew Brown, decided to 
sail with him to New York. A few more days on 
the water was of no consequence, except as Chester 
said to Lucy, to enjoy a Httle longer the after-sea- 
sickness period of the voyage. As for Chester him- 
self, he was very pleased with the proposition. 

A visit to the company's office in Water Street 
completed the arrangement. ''Yes," said the agent, 
"we can take care of you. There will be a very 
small list of passengers, which gives you all the more 
room. Besides, it's worth while to cross with Cap- 
tain Brown." 

As the boat did not lay up to the Landing Stage, 
but put directly to sea from the dock, the passengers 
were stowed safely away into their comfortable quar- 
ters the evening before sailing. When they awoke 
next morning, they were well out into the Irish sea, 
the Welsh hills slowly disappearing at the left. 
Chester was the first on deck. He tipped his cap 
to Captain Brown on the bridge as they exchanged 
their morning greetings. The day was bright and 
warm, the sea smooth. Chester stood looking at the 
vanishing hills, glancing now and then at the com- 
panionway, for Lucy. As he stood there, he thought 
of the time, only a few days since, when he had 
caught his first sight of those same green hills. What 
a lot had happened to him between those two points 
of time! A journey begun without distinct purpose 


had brought to him father and sweetheart. Out- 
ward bound he had been alone, empty and void in his 
life; and now he was going home with heart full of 
love and h'fe rich with noble purpose. 

Chester's father appeared before Lucy. The son 
met him and took his arm as they paced the deck 
slowly. The father declared to Chester that he was 
feeling fine; and, in fact, he looked remarkably well. 

'T am sorry we did not hear from Gilbert before 
we sailed," said the father; ''but I suppose the fault 
was ours in not writing to him sooner." 

''He barely had time to get the letter," said Ches- 

"I suppose so. But it doesn't matter. We should 
only have just stopped off at Kildare Villa to say 
goodbye, any way." 

"It's a pity we don't stop at Queenstown. He 
could have come out on the tender." 

"Perhaps he would, and then perhaps he wouldn't. 
It w^ould depend on just how he felt — halloo, Lucy — 
you up already?" 

"I couldn't lay abed longer this beautiful morn- 
ing," exclaimed Lucy as she came up to them. "Isn't 
this glorious ! Is Wales below the sea yet?" 

"No; there's a tip left. See, there, just above the 

"Goodbye, dear old Europe," said Lucy, as she 
waved her handkerchief. "I've always loved you — 
I love you now more than ever." 

Father and son looked and smiled knowingly at 
her. Then they all went down to breakfast. 


Just about that same time of day, Thomas Strong's 
delayed letter reached his brother in Cork. Uncle 
Gilbert read the letter while he ate his breakfast, 
and Aunt Sarah wondered what could be so disturb- 
ing in its contents ; for he would not finish his meal. 

''What is it, Gilbert?" she asked. 

"Thomas, Lucy, and that young fellow, Chester 
Lawrence are going to — yes, have already sailed 
^rom Liverpool with Captain Brown." 

''And they're not coming to see us before they 

"Didn't I say, they're already on the water — or 
should be — off to New York with Captain Brown — 
and he doesn't touch at Queenstown. and in that 

Uncle Gilbert wiped his forehead. 

'T'm sorry that they did not call," commented 
Aunt Sarah complacently; "but I suppose they were 
in a hurry, and Captain Brown will take care of 

"In a hurry! No. Captain Brown — " but the 
remark was lost to his wife. He cut short his eat- 
ing, hurried to town, and, in faint hopes that it might 
be in time, sent a telegram to his brother in Liver- 
pool which read : 

"Don't sail with Captain Brown. Will explain 

This telegram was delivered to Captain Brown's 
housekeeper, who sent it to the steamship company's 
office, where it was safely pigeon-holed. 


The morning passed at Kildare Villa. The tele- 
gram brought no reply. In foolish desperation, hop- 
ing against hope, Uncle Gilbert took the first fast 
train northward, crossed by mail steamer to Holy- 
head, thence on to Liverpool, where he arrived too 
late. The boat had sailed. He went to the steam- 
ship company's office in Water Street, and passed, 
without asking leave, into the manager's office. That 
official was alone, which was to Gilbert Strong's pur- 

''Why did you permit my brother to sail with 
Captain Brown?" asked he abruptly. 

"My dear Mr. Strong," said the manager, "calm 
yourself. I do not understand." 

"Yes, you do. You know as well as I do that his 
ship is — is not in the best condition. You ought not 
to have allowed passengers at all." 

"Sit down, Mr. Strong. The boat is good for 
many a trip yet, though it is true, as you know, that 
she is to go into dry dock for overhauling on her 
return. Has your brother sailed on her?" 

"He has, my brother, his daughter and her young 
man. I suppose there were other passengers also?" 

"Yes ; a few — perhaps twenty-five all told. Don't 
worry; Captain Brown will bring them safely 

"Yes," said Gilbert Strong, as he left the office, 
"yes, if the Lord will give him a show — but — " 

He could say no more, for did he not know full 
well that at a meeting of company directors at which 
he had been present, it had been decided to try one 


more trip with Captain Brown in command, and the 
fact that the boat was not in good condition was to 
be kept as much as possible from the captain. A 
little tinkering below and a judicious coat of paint 
above would do much to help the appearance of 
matters, one of the smiling directors had said. And 
so — well, he would try not to worry. Of course, 
everything would be well. Such things were done 
right along, with only occasionally a disaster or 
loss — fully covered by the insurance. 

But for all his efforts at self assurance, when lie 
went home to Aunt Sarah he was not in the most 
easy frame of mind. 

The little company under Captain Brown's care 
was having a delightful time. The weather was so 
pleasant that there was very little sickness. Chester 
again escaped and even his father and Lucy were 
indisposed for a day or two only. After that the 
long sunny days and much of the starry nights were 
spent on deck. The members of the company soon 
became well acquainted. Captain Brown called 
them his "happy family." 

And now Chester and Lucy had opportunity to 
get near to each other in heart and mind. With 
steamer chairs close together up on the promenade 
deck where there usually were none but themselves, 
they would sit for hours, talking and looking out 
over the sea. ''Shady bowers 'mid trees and flowers" 
may be ideal places for lovers ; but a quiet protected 
corner of a big ship which plows majestically 


through a changeless, yet ever-changing sea. has also 
its charms and advantages. 

On the fourth day out. The water was smooth, the 
day so warm that the shade was acceptable. Ches- 
ter and Lucy had been up on the bridge with Cap- 
tain Brown, who had told them stories of the sea, 
and had showed them pictures of his wife and baby, 
both safe in the 'Tort of Forever," he had said. All 
this had had its effect on the two young people, and 
so when they went down to escape the glare of the 
sun on the exposed bridge, they sought a shady cor- 
ner amid-ships. When they found chairs, Chester 
always saw that she was comfortable, for though well 
as she appeared, she was never free from the danger 
of a troublesome heart. The light shawl which she 
usually wore on deck, hung loosely from her shoul- 
ders across her lap, providing a cover behind which 
two hands could clasp. They sat for some time that 
afternoon, in silence, then Lucy asked abruptly : 

''Chester, you haven't told me much about that girl 
out West. You liked her very much, didn't, you?" 

"Yes," he admitted, after a pause. "I think I can 
truthfully say I did ; but this further I can say, that 
my liking for her was only a sort of introduction 
to the stronger, more matured love which was to 
follow, — my love for you. I think I have told you 
before that you bear a close resemblence to her ; and 
it occurs to me now that therein is another of God's 
wonderful providences." 

"How is that?" 

"Had vou not looked like her I would not have 


been attracted to you, and very likely, would have 
missed you and my father, and all this." 

'T'm glad your experience has been turned to 
such good account. Now, I for example, never had 
a beau until you came." 


''Oh, don't feign surprise. You know, I'm no 
beauty, and I never was popular with the boys. 
Someone once told me it was because I was too re- 
ligious. What do you think of that?" 

"Too religious ! Nonsense. The one thing above 
another, if there is such, that I like about you is that 
your beauty of heart and soul corresponds to your 
beauty of face — No : don't contradict. You have the 
highest type of beauty — " 

"Beauty is in the eyes that see,'' she interrupted. 

"Certainly : and in the heart that understands. As 
I said, the highest type of beauty is where the inner 
and the outer are harmoniously combined. I think 
that is another application of the truth that the spirit- 
ual and the mortal, or 'element' as the revelation calls 
it, must be eternally connected to insure a perfect 
being. Somehow, I always sympathize with one 
whose beautiful spirit is tabernacled in a plain body. 
And yet, my pity is a hundred times more profound 
for one whom God has given a beautiful face and 
form, but whose heart and soul have been made ugly 
by sin — but there, if I don't look out, I'll be preach- 

"W'ell, your congregation likes to hear you 


Space will not permit the recording of the number 
of times emphasis was given to various expressions 
in this conversation by the hand pressure under the 

"Now," continued he, 'T can't conceive of your 
not having any admirers." 

"I didn't say admirers — I said beaux." 

"Well, I suppose there is a difference," he laughed. 

"Of course, I have known a good many young 
men in my time, but those matrimonially inclined 
usually pased by on the other side." 

"Perhaps they knew I was coming on this side." 

"Perhaps — There's papa. He looks lonesome. 
We ought to be ashamed of ourselves to hide from 
him as we did yesterday." 

"I agree; but he'll find us now." 

Lucy drew the father's attention, and he found 
a chair near them. 

"Isn't the sea beautiful," said Lucy, by way of 
beginning the conversation properly, now a third per- 
son was present. "And what a lot of water there is !" 
she continued. "What did Lincoln say about the 
common people? The Lord must like them, be- 
cause he made so many of them. Well, the Lord 
must like water also, as He has made so much of it." 

"Water is a very necessary element in the economy 
of nature," said the father. "Like the flow of blood 
in the human body, so is water to this world. As far 
as we know, wherever there is life there is water." 

"And that reminds me," said Lucy eagerly, as if 
a new thought had come to her, "that water is also 


a sign of purity. Water is used, not only to purify 
the body, but as a symbol to wash away the sins of 
the soul. Paul, you remember, was commanded to 
'arise, and be baptized, and wash away thy sins'." 
Lucy looked at Chester as if giving him a cue. 

'Tn the economy of God," said Chester, ''it seems 
necessary that we must pass through water from one 
world to another. In like manner, the gateway to 
the kingdom of heaven is through water. 'Except a 
man be born of water and of the spirit, he cannot 
enter into the Kingdom of God' is declared by the 
Savior himself." 

Whether or not the father understood that this 
brief sermonizing was intended primarily for him, 
he did not show any resentment. He listened at- 
tentively, then added : 

"Yes; water has always held an important place 
among nations. Cicero tells us that Thales the 
Milesian asserted God formed all things from water 
— Out in Utah, Chester," said the father, turning 
abruptly to the young man, "you have an illustration 
of what water can do in the way of making the des- 
ert to blossom." 

"Yes; it is truly wonderful, what it has done out 
there," agreed Chester. Then being urged by both 
his father and Lucy, he told of the \\^est and its 
development. He was adroitly led to talk of Piney 
Ridge Cottage and the people who lived there, their 
home and community life, their trials, their hopes, 
their ideals. Ere he was aware, Chester was again in 
the canyons, and crags and mountain peaks, whose 


wildness was akin to the wildness of the ocean. Then 
when his story was told, Lucy said : 

'T know where I could get well." 

^Where?" asked Chester. 

"At Piney Ridge Cottage." 

Chester neither agreed nor denied. Just then a 
steamer came into sight, eastward bound. It proved 
to be an ''ocean grayhound," and Captain Brown 
coming up, let them look at it through his glass. 

"She's going some," remarked the captain; "but 
I'll warrant the passengers are not riding as easy as 

"Somehow," said the father, "a passing steamer 
always brings to me profound thoughts. Now, there, 
for example, is a spot on the vast expanse of water. 
It is but a speck, yet within it is a little world, teem- 
ing with life. The ship comes into our view, then 
passes away. Again, the ship is just a part of a 
great machine — I use this figure for want of a better 
one. Every individual on the ship bears a certain 
relationship to the vessel ; the steamer is a part of this 
world ; this world is a cog in the machinery of the 
solar system; the solar system is but a small group 
of worlds, which is a part of and depends on, some- 
thing as much vaster as the world is to this ship. 
This men call the Universe; but all questions of 
what or where or when pertaining to this universe 
are unanswerable. We are lost — we know nothing 
about it — it is beyond our finite minds." 

Captain Brown stood listening to this exposition. 


His eyes were on the speaker, then on the passing 
steamer, then on the speaker again. 

"Mr. Strong," said he, "at the last church service 
I attended in Liverpool, the minister v^as trying to 
explain what God is, — and just that which you have 
said is beyond us, that vast, unknown, unknowable 
something he called God." 

"Oh," exclaimed Lucy, involuntarily. 

'T'U admit the definition is not very plain," con- 
tinued the captain. "\\> get no sense of nearness 
from it. I would not know how to pray to or wor- 
ship such a God; but what are we to do? I have 
never heard anything more satisfactory, except — 
well, only when I read my Bible." 

"Why not take the plain statement of the Bible, 
then?" suggested Chester. 

'T try to, but my thinking of these things is not 
clear, because of the interpretation the preachers 
put upon them — excuse the statement, Mr. Strong; 
but perhaps you are an exception. I have never 
heard you preach." 

The minister smiled good-naturedly. Then he 
said, "Chester here, is quite a preacher himself. Ask 
his opinion on the matter." 

"I shall be happy to listen to him. However, I 
have an errand just now. WW] you go with me?" 
this to Chester. 

Chester, annoyed for a moment at this unexpected 
turn, arose and followed the captain into his quar- 

"Sit down," said the captain. "I was glad ^Tr. 


Strong gave me an opportunity to get you away, for 
I have a matter I wish to speak to you about, a mat- 
ter which I think best to keep from both Mr. Strong 
and Lucy — but which you ought to know." 


The officer seated himself near his table on which 
were outspread charts and maps. About the table 
hung a framed picture of the captain's wife and child, 
a miniature of which he carried in his breast pocket. 

"In the first place," began Captain Brown, "I want 
you to keep this which I tell you secret until I deem 
it wise to be published. I can trust you for that?" 


Always in the company of the passengers. Cap- 
tain Brown's bearing was one of assurance. He 
smiled readily. But now his face was serious, and 
Chester saw lines of care and anxiety in it. 

"I am sorry that I ever suggested to you and 
your friends — and my dear friends they are too," 
continued the captain, "that you take this voyage 
with me, for if anything should happen, I should 
never forgive myself. However, there is no occasion 
for serious alarm — yet." 

"What is the matter, captain ?" 

"I have been deceived regarding the condition of 
this ship. I was made to understand that she was 
perfectly sea-worthy — this is my first trip with her 
— but I now learn that the boilers are in a bad 
state and the pumps are hardly in a working con- 
dition. There is — already a small leak where it is 
nearly impossible to be reached. We are holding 


our own very well, and we can jog along in this way 
for some time, so there is no immediate danger." 

Chester experienced a sinking at the heart. From 
the many questions which thronged into his mind, he 
put this : 

''When might there be danger?" 

"If the leak gets bad and the pumps can not handle 
it. Then a rough sea is to be dreaded." 

"What can we do?" 

"At present, nothing but keep cool. You are the 
only one of the passengers that knows anything 
about this, and I am telling you because I can trust 
you to be wise and brave, if necessary. If things 
do not improve, we shall soon be getting our boats 
in shape. We shall do this as quietly as possible, but 
someone might see and ask questions. We shall de- 
pend on you — and I'll promise to keep you posted on 
the ship's true condition." 

"Thank you, sir." 

"And now," said the captain as his face resumed 
its cheerful expression, "I must make a trip below. 
When you see me on the bridge again, come u]) and 
make that explanation which Mr. Strong said you 
were able to do. I shall be mighty glad to listen to 

Chester protested, but the captain would not hear 
it. "I'll be up in the course of half an hour," said 
the seaman. "Promise me you'll come?" 

"Of course, if you really wish it?" 

"I was never more earnest in my life. My boy, 
let me tell von something. I have listened at times 


to your conversation on religious themes — you and 
Lucy have talked when I could not help hearing — 
and I want to hear more — I believe you have a mes- 
sage for me." 

There was a smile on the captain's face as he hur- 
ried away. And Chester's heart also arose and was 
comforted, as he lingered for a few moments on the 
deck and then joined Lucy and his father. 


In blissful ignorance of any danger, the passengers 
and most of the crew went the daily round of pleas- 
ure or duty. The games on deck, the smoking and 
card-playing in the gentlemen's room, the sleeping 
and the eating all went on uninterrupted. Captain 
Brown, though quieter than usual, was as pleasant 
and thoughtful as ever. The sea was smooth, the 
weather fine, and the ship plowed on her course with 
no visible indication that she was slowly being crip- 

Lucy had for her use, one of the largest and best 
ventilated rooms in the ship. It was so pleasant 
there, that she spent much of her time in its seclusive- 
ness. It is needless to state that Chester shared that 
comfort and seclusion. Reading, talking, building- 
castles which reached into the heavens, these two 
basked in the warm light of a perfect love. After a 
little buffeting about in worldly storms, two hearts 
had come to rest ; and how penetratingly sweet was 
that serene peace of soul. In him she saw her highest 
ideals realized, her fondest hopes and dreams come 
true. In her he found the composite perfectness of 
woman. All his visions from early youth to the pres- 
ent materialized in the sweet face, gentle spirit and 
pure soul of Lucy Strong ! 

Chester, the day after Captain Brown had told him 
about the condition of the ship, found Lucy in her 



room. She was not well, the father had said, so 
Chester sought her out. She was reclining on the 
couch. His heart, burdened with what he knew 
melted towards the girl. He drew a stool up to her, 
and kissed his good-morning. 

"Not so well today?" he asked. 

"No; my heart has been troubling me all night; 
but Fm better now." 

"Now, see here, my girl, I'm the one that ought 
to be ill." 

"How's that?" she smiled at him. 

"Have we not exchanged hearts?" 

"Oh, I see. Yes ; but the strength only went with 
mine. The weakness I retained. It would not have 
been fair otherwise." 

She sat up and pushed back her hair. He seated 
himself near her and drew her in his arm. He held 
her close. 

"Some things," said he, "we can not give, much as 
we would like. Some burdens we must carry our- 

"Which I take it, is a very wise provision," she 

There was silence after that. It was not easy for 
either of them to talk, each being constrained with 
his own crowded thoughts. Chester listened to the 
rhythmic beat of the machinery, and wondered vag- 
uely how long it would continue thus, and what 
would happen if it had to stop. 

"Chester," said Lucy at last, "what if I should 
die?" She clune to him as she said it. 


"But, my dear, you're not going to die. You're 
going to get completely well again — You're going 
to stay with me, you know." 

"That's the worst, when I think of it — the thought 
of separating from you — O Chester, I can't do that 
— All my life I've waited and watched for you, and 
now to leave you, to lose you again — and we've been 
together such a short time ! I can't bear to think of 
it." The tears welled in her eyes. 

"Then, my sweetheart mustn't think of it. We 
are going to be together, we two. 'W'hither thou 
goest, I wnll go; and where thou lodgest, I will 
lodge. . . . where thou diest will I die. and 
there will I be buried !' quoted the young man, know- 
ing not the prophetic import of his words. She 
leaned on his shoulder, and he stroked the hair from 
her forehead. 

"Did you have a talk with Captain Brown?" she 
asked. "Did you answer his questions?" 

Chester started, then understood. "Oh, yes," he 
replied. "Yesterday on the bridge we talked for an 
hour. He asked me all manner of questions, and 
I think I satisfied him. He had heard of 'Mormon- 
ism,' of course, but never of its message of salva- 
tion. I believe he's converted already." 

"I'm so glad, for he is such a nice man. Chester. 
I wish your father were more susceptible to the gos- 
pel. I can't understand him. He never opposes, 
nor does he now find fault with me ; but as for him- 
self — well, he says he's going back to the pulpit." 

"I am just as sorry as you, on that score ; but v.e 


can but do our best, and let the Lord take care of 
the rest." 

Now when their thoughts ranged from self to 
others, Lucy felt so much better that she declared 
she was ready for the deck. *So leaning on Ches- 
ter's arm, they carefully climbed the stairs, and 
came to the open. There was a breeze, and a bank 
of clouds hung low to windward. Chester adjusted 
Lucy's wrap closely as they paced the deck slowly. 
The clouds lifted into the sky, shutting out the sun. 
On the horizon, winkings of lightning flashed. Evi- 
dently, a storm was coming. 

Captain Brown was quiet at the luncheon table. 
Chester noted it, and afterwards, followed the cap- 
tain to the bridge. 

"How goes it?" asked Chester. 

"Not well," was the reply. "Do you see that list 
to larboard. 

"I don't understand." 

Without pointing, which action others might see, 
the captain explained that the ship tilted to one side, 
also that there was a slight "settling by the head," 
that is, the ship was deeper in the water forward 
than at any other part. Chester noticed it now, and 
asked what it meant. 

"It means," explained the captain, "that we are 
slowly settling — sinking, in plain words. The pumps 
can not manage the water coming into the hold. 
There is also some trouble with the cargo, which 
causes the list or leaning to one side. From now 
on, T shall be on the lookout for assistance, which I 


think, will come in ample time — Now tell me more 
about this new prophet, Joseph Smith." 

For an hour they conversed. Then the captain 
had to go below again, and Chester went in search 
of Lucy. A number of the passengers were stand- 
ing near the larboard rail. They noticed the slope of 
the deck, but did not realize its meaning, and Chester 
did not enlighten them. A peculiar heart-sinking 
feeling persisted with him, which the coming storm 
did not alleviate. 

The captain was not in his place at dinner, which 
was all the more noticeable, because it was the first 
time he had been absent. Some of the passengers 
were beginning to feel the effects of the higher seas, 
and they did not eat much. Very few went back to 
the deck from the table. Lucy and the minister were 
among those who went to bed, but Chester, clad 
in water proofs was easier on deck. 

The wind was blowing hard, increasing in time to 
quite a gale. The waves broke over the ship's prow, 
slushing the forward deck and driving all who were 
out either back or to an upper deck. Chester kept 
away from Captain Brown on the bridge, where he 
no doubt would remain throughout the night. 

Darkness came on thick and black. The wind 
howled hideously around smoke-stack and rigging. 
The rain came in storms, then ceased only to gather 
more strength for the next squall. How well the 
ship was standing the rough weather, Chester did 
not know, and certainly the other passengers had 


no fears, as most of them were asleep. Chester 
went down the companion-way, glanced into the vac- 
ant saloon and hallways, and paused at Lucy's door 
All was quiet, so she was no doubt asleep. His 
father was also resting easily. He went on deck 

As he mounted the steps to the upper deck, he saw 
a brilliant light shine from the bridge. It flashed 
for an instant, flooding the ship with light, then went 
out. "The captain is signalling," thought Chester. 
In five minutes the light flashed again, thus at regular 
intervals. The few passengers who saw this, be- 
coming alarmed, rushed to the bridge with anxious 
questions. The captain met them at the foot of 
the stairs. 

''My friends," he said in wonderfully calm tones 
''there is no occasion for alarm. The weather is 
very thick, and as we are in the path of steamers, 
these lights are set off as a warning." This ex- 
planation, as Chester knew, was not all the truth, 
but the captain did not want a panic so early in the 
trouble. The passengers seemed satisfied, but they 
lingered for some time watching the lights and the 
remarkable effects they had on the ship and the 
heaving sea. The captain touched Chester who was 
still standing near the steps. 

"You go to bed and get some rest," he said. "You 
may need all your strength later. There is no 
danger tonight. Go to bed." 

Chester took the captain's advice. He went to bed, 


but it was not easy to go to sleep, so he did not 
do this until well towards morning. 

The storm was still on next morning when Ches- 
ter awoke. He dressed hurriedly, listened again at 
Lucy's and his father's doors, but hearing nothing- 
went on deck. The day was well advanced. The 
wind seemed not so strong as the night before, and 
the waves were not so high. However, the sea was 
rough enough to add to the danger of a sinking ship. 
Chester noticed the "list to larboard," and the ''settl- 
ing at the head," and found both of these dangerous 
conditions worse. The most careless observer would 
not now fail to see that something was the matter. 
And, in fact, as the passengers came on deck that 
morning, most of them late and looking bad from 
threatened attacks of sea-sickness, they immediately 
remarked on the slanting deck. Anxious enquiries 
from officers and seam.en brought no satisfactory 
reply. Had there been a large number of passengers, 
there would likely have been an unpleasant panic 
that morning. 

The breakfast was late, and very few of the pas- 
sengers were there to partake of it. Captain Brown 
was in his place, greeting the few who slipped care- 
fully into their seats. As the meal progressed and 
not over half of the usual company put in an appear- 
ance, the captain consulted with the second officer 
and the steward. Then at the close of the meal, the 
captain arose and said : 

"My friends, I wish you to remain until we can 
get all who are able to join us here. I have some- 


thing to say which I want all of you to hear. So 
please remain seated. The steward will see that no 
one leaves the room.'" 

One by one the absent passengers were brought in. 
Thomas Strong was among them, but not Lucy, for 
which Chester was thankful. The steward reported 
that all who were able were present, and then amid 
a tense silence, emphasized only by the creaking of 
the ship and the subdued noise of the sea without, the 
captain said : 

'T am sorry to have to tell you that the ship is in 
a sinking condition. There is a leak which we have 
been unable to stop. Two of our boilers are already 
useless and it is only a matter of time when the water 
will reach the others. I have not said anything about 
this until now, for I have been hoping to meet with 
some vessel that could take us off. So far, none 
has appeared. However, we are in the steamer zone, 
and we have many chances yet. Today sometime 
or tonight we must take to the boats, and what I 
want to impress upon you especially is that you, all 
of you, must control yourselves. Do not give way 
to excitement or fear which might hinder you from 
doing what is best. I tell you plainly, that the worst 
we have to fear on that score is the crew. They are 
already near to mutiny. The first officer and others 
are guarding their exits and keeping the stokers 
at their posts. They are a rough lot of men, and it 
will not do to let them get beyond our control. I 
shall, therefore, ask the help of every man present. 


When it comes to launching the boats, it must be 
done in order. There are boats enough, but there 
must not be any crowding. With the present rough 
water it will be difficult to get the boats off. It is 
necessary, therefore, that the greatest care be taken. 
Now, then, that is all. Go about quietly. Each man 
and woman get a life belt ready, but you need not 
put them on until you are told. The steward will 
give the order." 

He ceased, turned, and hurried up the companion- 
way. There was silence for a moment, then a wo- 
man screamed, which signaled a general uproar of 
cries and talk. Out of the confusion came quiet, as- 
suring commands, and in time the little company 
had scattered. Chester and his father went out to- 
gether, along the hallway to Lucy's room. They 
looked mi tely at each other, not knowing what best 
to say. 

When they stopped at Lucy's door, Chester asked 
of his father if she was up. 

"Yes," he replied ; "but she is not well. How- 
shall we tell her the evil news?" 

"We must manage it somehow, for she must 
know — poor little girl !" 

Between them, they managed to tell Lucy of the 
situation they were in. During the telling, she looked 
at one and then at the other in a dazed way, as if she 
could not believe there were any actual danger. They 
repeated to her the assurances the captain had given. 

"Can we go on deck?" asked Luc\ at last. "I 


want to get into the air where the sky is above me." 

They found a protected corner in the smoking 
room where Lucy was content to sit and look out of 
the open door to see what was going on about the 
deck. Officers were inspecting the boats to see that 
all were ready in case of need. The work of the 
crew and the movements of the passengers were ac- 
compained by a certain nervousness. That the ship 
was slowly settling could plainly be seen by all on 

Towards noon, the forward hatch was opened, and 
soon there was a rattle of chains and clang of ma- 
chinery. Then up from the hold come bales, boxes, 
and barrels which were unceremoniously dropped 
into the sea. The cargo must go. No help had yet 
been sighted, and if they were to remain afloat much 
longer, the ship would have to be lightened. ''What 
a pity to waste so much," said some, forgetting their 
own peril for the moment; but human life is worth 
more than ships or cargos. 

Very few cared to respond to the call for luncheon 
which the stewards bravely kept up. The women 
who were too frightened to go below were served 
on deck, being urged to eat by solicitous friends. 

All afternoon the unloading went on. The ship 
moved slowly leaving a train of floating merchandise 
in its wake. On the bridge the captain or one of the 
officers paced back and forth with glass in hand eager 
to catch the call of the man in the crow's nest if he 
should catch sight of other vessels. But none were 


seen. The afternoon closed: darkness came on. 
Then the light burned again from the bridge and 
the fog-horn added its din to the dreariness. 

Lucy kept to her position near the open deck. She 
would not go below, so wraps and pillows were 
brought her and she was made as comfortable as 
i)ossible. Chester remained with her most of the 
time, the father came and went in nervous uncer- 
tainty. Captain Brown stopped long enough to tell 
Chester that since most of the cargo was overboard, 
they would float a little longer, but they were to be 
ready at any time now to leave the ship. The boats 
were provisioned, it was explained, and the passen- 
gers would be allowed to take with them only what 
could be carried in a small bundle. Very likely, 
they would not need to desert the ship before morn- 
ing, so they had better rest. 

But there was neither rest nor sleep that night. 
Chester tucked his father into a seat, placed a pillow 
for his head, then, seeing that Lucy was comfortable, 
sat down by her. She lifted the cover from her shoul- 
ders, and extended it to his. It dropped to his lap 
also, so thus they sat in the dim glow of the electric 
light. Life belts were within easy reach. 

It was well past midnight when the lights went 
out. Then the beat, beat of the engines grew less, 
became fainter, and then like a great heart, ceased. 
The ship was dead, and lifeless it must float at the 
mercy of wind and wave. Then from below came 
the cries of men, and there were hurried steps and 


sharp commands on deck. Chester stepped out to see 
what it was. Captain Brown and the first officer 
stood by the entrance to the boiler rooms with gleam- 
ing revolvers in their hands, holding back an excited 
crowd of stokers. 

''Back, every one of you!" shouted the captain. "I 
shall kill the first man who comes out until he is 
given permission." 

The mass of half-naked, grimy men slunk back 
with curses and protestations. The ship is sinking," 
they cried, ''let us get out." 

"Steady there now." commanded Captain Brown. 
"There is plenty of time. We shall let you out, but 
it must be done orderly. One at a time now, and go 
get your clothes. Then stand by, ready for orders 
trom the engineer. Do you agree?" 

"Yes, yes." They filed out one and two at a 
time, disappearing in the darkness. Lanterns, pre- 
pared for this emergency, flashed here and there. 
Chester obtained one and placed it on the table of 
the smoking room. 

Presently the stewards could be heard running 
about the ship saying : "Ready for the boats, ready 
for the boats — Everybody on the boat deck!" The 
frightened passengers crowded up the steps in the 
half-darkness, the gleam of lanterns showing the 
way. Men were clearing the davits, and presently 
the first boat was ready to be filled. 

Captain Brown was in command. He now looked 



out into the night, then down to the rough sea, hesi- 
tating for a moment whether or not the time had 
come. He did not wish to set these men and women 
afloat in small boats on such a sea if he could possibly 
help it; but a settling movement of the ship, which 
perhaps he only felt, decided him. He detailed six 
sailors to the boat that was ready, then said : 

"The women first — no crowding, please — stand 
back you!" — this to a man whom panic had seized 
and who was crowding forward. 

Sharp, clear, came the orders, and everyone under- 
stood. Some husbands were permitted to go with 
their hysterical wives. Presently, "That will do," 
ordered the captain. "There are plenty of boats, 
and there need be no overloading. Lower away." 

The first boat went down and was safely floated 
and rowed away from the sinking ship. The sailors 
were busy with the second boat. Captain Brown 
caught sight of Chester. "Where is Mr. Strong and 
Lucy. This is your boat. Bring them along." 

"When do you go. Captain?" 

"I? On the last boat. Hurry them along, my 

Just as Chester turned, there came from the other 
side of the ship the noise of shouting, rushing men. 
The commands of officers were drowned in the con- 
fusion. The frantic stokers had got beyond the con- 
trol of the officer, and they rushed for the boats. 
Davits creaked, as the boats were swung out. The 
crazed men pushed pell mell into them. One boat 


was lowered when only half full, and by the time 
Captain Brown reached the scene, the second boat 
was full, ready to be loosened. 

''Hold," he commanded, as he held aloft his lan- 
tern and his revolver pointed directly at the man 
who held one of the ropes. 

''Out of there> every one of you — out I say — you 
first," to a man just climbing in. 

The stokers were not sailors — the riff-raff of many 
ports they were; and now with them it was every 
man for himself. This feeling without proper knowl- 
edge worked their undoing. The ropes were re- 
leased, one before the other, and the loaded boat 
bumped down the side of the vessel, one end drop- 
ping before the other, spilling the screaming, cursing 
men into the water. Down the boat slid until one 
end touched the waves, the rope ends flying loosely 
so that they could not be reached by those on the 
deck. A wave hit the boat as it hung and swamped it. 

"My God," exclaimed the captain, "two of our 
boats are lost. There is only one more left." 

Chester Lawrence stood still and watched by the 
lantern's light what was going oh. He pressed for- 
ward in time to hear Captain Brown's remark about 
the boats. Then together they crossed to the other 
side where that last boat hung ready to be filled. And 
there was need for hurry now. Slowly, but surely, 
the ship was sinking, and any moment might bring 
the final plunge. 



''Load the boat/' shouted the Captain, "women 
first." The half dozen women found places. 

"Where's Lucy?" he enquired, looking around for 
Chester who had disappeared. Lucy not in the 
boat. The Captain was sure she had not gotten 
away with the first boat. Chester would bring her. 

''Now, fill in," was the order. "Mr. Strong, 
where are you ? Is Mr. Strong here ?" But he was 
not to be found. 

One by one the few remaining passengers took 
their places, then the crew. 

"Is there room for more?" asked the Captain of 
the officer in the boat. 

"I fear not, sir," came the reply. 

"Some of the men get under the seats," ordered 
the Captain. "Now, then in with you men. Don't 
go yet. There is yet a woman aboard. Hold fast 
there, officer, until I find her.'' He rushed down the 
stairs with his lantern, calling for Chester. "Where 
]^v3re you — for God's sake come quick!" 

"Here I am sir," replied Chester as he came nearly 
carrying his father. 

"\\^here is Lucy?" 

"Lucy is not coming, sir. She does not need to — 
she has gone already — she — " 

"What? What is it? W^e need to hurry, my 

"Lucy is dead !" 

"Dead ! — Bring Mr. Strong along. The boat is 

The boat hung by its davits, ready for lowering. 


"We are full," said the officer, and the deck is 
cleared. There is need for hurry, sir." 

''There is," replied Captain Brown. ''Make room 
for two more." 

"We can't do it sir — not in this sea — we are over- 
crowded now." 

"You must — close up, lie down, make room." 

One of the officers offered to get out, then another 
did the same, but the captain would not hear. "No," 
he said, "you men have families." 

Still the boat hung there in the darkness. What 
could be done? The waves rolled beneath, the wind 
moaned in the rigging. 

"We might risk one more, sir," came_ from the 

The captain looked at Chester, big, strong, full of 
youth, and then at the slender, gray-haired man. 
What a pity, and yet he knew that the younger man 
would have to remain. That was the law of the sea. 

"Fll not go," said tlie father. "You go. Chester." 

"No, no ; we'll manage somehow ; but you must 
take the chance. Here, help him in." 

Captain Brown stood by with lifted lantern. He 
did not dictate which of the two should go. He had 
no need of that. He saw Chester lift the old man 
in his arms, hold him for an instant close to him, 
kiss him and murmur, "Goodby father, and God 
bless and preserve you" — then he handed him over 
to outstretched hands in the boat. 

Captain Brown and Chester Lawrence stood by the 


railing and watched the boat lowered. Then when 
they knew it was safely riding the waves, they turned 
to each other. 

"Where is your life-belt?" asked the Captain. 
"Get it, and put it on." 

"Is there a chance?" 

"There is aUvays a chance. Come. We shall go 
together, one way or another — the way God wills." 
?\_. They walked along the slanting deck down to 
where Lucy lay on the couch in the smoking room. 
Chester did not notice the life-belt on the table, but 
he lifted a lantern to Lucy's face, kneeled by it, and 
kissed it tenderly. "Lucy," he said, "my sweetheart, 
where are you ? Don't you want me to come too ?" 
He stroked the still face, and smoothed back the hair 
as he was wont. "Aren't you afraid in that new 
world to which you have gone — aren't you as lone- 
/ some as — I am? O Lucy, Lucy!" 
t.^^ "Come, put on this belt," said the captain, touch- 
ing him on the shoulder. 

"I'm coming with you, Lucy," continued the 
young man. "Nothing shall part us — as I have told 
you — we two, — O, my God, what can I do?" 

The captain led Chester away from the dead, out 
to the open deck, and buckled around him a life-belt. 
"Wait here," said the officer. "There is a chance — 
I'm going to see. I'll be back in a minute." 

Chester was alone, and in those few minutes the 
wonderful panorama of life passed before him. He 
lived in periods, each period ending with Lucy 
Strong, j His boyhood, and his awakening to the 




world about him — then Lucy; his schooldays, with 
boys and girls — out from them came Lucy ; his early 
manhood, his forming ideals — completed in Lucy; 
his experiences in the West, and at Piney Ridge Cot- 
tage, and then came, not Julia, but Lucy; then the 
gospel with its new light and assurance of salvation ; 
and this coupled with Lucy, her faith and love, 
burned as a sweet incense in the soul of Chester Law- 
rence. Fear left him now. He heard sounds as if 
they were songs from distant angel-choirs. Words 
of comfort and strength were whispered to his heart : 
"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
death, I will fear no evil ; for thou art near me ; thy 
rod and thy staff they comfort me." * * * * 
Eternity ! Why, an immortal soul is always in eter- 
nity; and God is always at hand in life or in death. 
* * * * Death! what is it but the passing to 
the other side of a curtain, wher^ our loved ones are 
waiting to meet and greet us!.^^- 

Chester stepped back to Lucy. It was dark where 
she lay, but he passed his hand over her form to her 
face, touching tenderly her cheek and closed eyes. 
The flesh was not yet cold, but he felt that the soul 
whom he had come to know as Lucy Strong was not 

Captain Brown called through 1:he darkness. Ches- 
ter groped into the open again. ' Was that the cap- 
tain's figure on the bridge, looming black against 
the faint light in the eastern sky? If it was, Chester 
was in no condition to know, for just then there 
came a great sinking. A roar of waters sounded in 



his ears, there was a struggle, a moment of agony, 
and then the darkness of oblivion. 

When he awoke again, he had passed over the 
storm-whipped bar into still waters. There Lucy 
met him, and together they sailed, guided by the 
unerring Light of God into the Harbor of Eternal 
Peace and Rest. 


Thomas Strong was a guest at Piney Ridge Cot- 
tage. It had taken him a full year to get over the 
effects of that dreadful sea disaster wherein a son, 
a daughter, and a dear friend had been lost, and to 
finally make his way westward to the people to whom 
both son and daughter had belonged. He had ar- 
rived during apple-blossom time, and the white- 
haired, sad-faced man who seemed to have had all 
mortality burned from him by fiery trials, was kindly 
received by Mr. Elston, his daughter Julia and her 
husband, Bishop Glen Curtis. These listened to his 
strange story, and were profoundly moved by its 
tragic ending. They urged him to remain with 
them, Julia giving him the room on the attic floor 
which previously was hers. He was grateful for all 
these kindnesses, saying he would be pleased to visit 
with them for a time. 

Out under the apple trees in the growing orchard 
Hugh Elston made for their guest a seat, where dur- 
ing the day he would sit as one alone, listening and 
waiting here in this spot away from the noise and 
traffic of the world for a final message which the 
God of the Universe might send him. As far as his 
strength would allow, he liked to walk along the 
country roads, which now extended for many miles 
from Piney Ridge, and chat with the neighbors about 
the country and its prospects. He also made some 


minor excursions up the hillsides, but in this direction 
he could not go far. Frequently he stopped to rest 
by the enclosed graves, where he sat on the grass, 
and with hands on cane, looked wonderingly at the 
two graves, side by side. 

But w^hispered messages from out the blue or 
storms of heaven did not come to this man. Neither 
were there angels sent to tell him what to do ; but the 
Lord had one more thing — simple indeed — to bear 
upon the reluctant heart of Thomas Strong. 

In the little attic room which Julia had turned over 
to her guest were many books, papers, and maga- 
zines. She had told him that everything in the room 
was at his service, and so the visitor made good use 
of the kind offer. One day he found a small book 
v/hich had the name Anna LawTence — Chester's 
mother — written on the fly-leaf. Curiously turning 
over the pages of the volume, which was simply a 
school book of the kind he remembered in his vouth. 
he found between the leaves an old letter. He un- 
folded the deeply creased sheets, looked at the strange 
handwriting, saw that it was dated thirty years ago, 
and addressed to "Miss Anna Lawrence'' and siorned 
by a name unknown to him. There could no harm 
come from reading this message from the past, so he 
drew his chair up to the window, and read : 

"Dear Friend Anna: 

"It is three months now since I left home for this 
mission, an<l not having heard anything yet from 
you, I thou^^ht a few lines from me might help vou 


get started in the letter-writing direction. I am en- 
joying my mission very much, which perhaps you 
cannot understand, but it is true, nevertheless. I 
came to this place yesterday and have already de- 
livered some tracts. Most of the people are against 
us, specially is this the case with preachers. They 
get after us roughly. My companion isn't as old as 
I am, and goodness knows, I'm young and green 
enough ; but we're both studying hard, and the Lord 
is with us, which, after all, is our chief concern. 

"I hope you are getting along at school. Do you 
remember the fun we had last vacation? I heard 
that our friend Sue is about to be married, but I 
suppose you know all about that. 

''But I must tell you about something that hap- 
pened to us before coming here. It was in a place 
not far from Chicago, and my companion md I were 
tracting as usual. I took one side of the street and 
he took the other. Well, along about noon when it 
was time we should quit, my companion didn't make 
his appearance. I waited a long time, then crossed 
the street to look for him. The weather was warm 
and people were mostly out of doors in the shade. 
I heard what sounded like a big discussion on a 
porcl. behind some vines. I went up, and sure 
enough, there was my companion and another 
young fellow having it out in great shape. The 
young man sat in his shirt sleeves on a table, and the 
wa)^ he was giving it to that poor friend of mine was 
a caution. I learned that the young fellow was 
studvinof for the ministrv, and because of that, he 
considered himself just the person to give it good and 
hard to a 'Mormon' missionary. 


"Well, the fellow sat there on the table, his legs 
swinging as if he didn't care a — rap. There was a 
Bible and some other books on the table, but they 
had got beyond the use of books. The young fellow 
ridiculed the Prophet, poked fun at his revelations, 
and said the 'Mormons' were a bad lot altogether. 
Said they deserved to be driven from decent society 
into the desert as they had been. He kept it up like 
that, and then he said something odd. T wouldn't 
have your religion at any price,' he said. 'Get out 
with you.' 

"My companion sat there, not saying a word. I 
saw the tears come into his eyes. He wiped them 
away hurriedly. Then his face became pale, and it 
seemed to me that a light actually shone from it. As 
I told you, he is just a boy, and as I looked on him 
then, I thought of the boy prophet, and what my 
father has told me so often about him. Well, when 
the fellow got through with his abuse, and jumped 
from the table as if we were dismissed, my com- 
panion arose and in a voice wonderfully gentle yet 
vibrant with power, said : 

" 'Yes, we will go, but not before I tell you this : 
You know not what you say, therefore, you are for- 
given, as far as I am concerned. My parents were 
driven from this state. All they had was destroyed 
by mobs. My mother died on the plains and her 
body lies there to this day. All that mortal man can 
suffer and live my people have suffered, and all for 
the sake of the truth, the gospel that I have brought 
to you this day, and which you so scornfully reject. 
And now I tell you in the name of the Lord, some 
day you will receive this gospel — but not until you 
have paid for it, and paid for it dearly. Like the 


merchantman in the parable, all that you have will 
you pay for this Pearl of Great Price! Good day, 

''We both left him standing somewhat dazed, but 
I tell you—" 

The letter dropped to Thomas Strong's knee, as he 
looked up and out at the closing day. He arose, 
went to the glass door which opened on to the little 
porch, stepped out into the air that he might breathe 
easier. What he saw was not Old Thunder Moun- 
tain, or the wide extent of the Flat, dim now in the 
twilight, but a vine-enclosed porch and the pale, 
peculiar face of a boy tilling him the words he had 
just read. * * * *\ There had been other boy 
prophets besides the first great one; and yes, oh 
Great God, one old, broken man had paid the price. 

The vines on the upper porch of Piney Ridge Cot- 
tage now also formed a cover, and in their shadow 
Thomas Strong kneeled and prayed as he had never 
prayed before, j 

An hour later, Julia, wondering what their guest 
was doing in his room so long without a light, called 
to him softly at the foot of the stairs. 

"Yes," he replied, as if he did not realize for the 
moment who was calling, "Fm coming — Fm coming 


The first Sunday in the month was Fast Day at 
Piney Ridge the same as in all wards of the Church. 
The Bishop had some visiting to do that morning 
so he did not get to Sunday School ; but he returned 
about eleven o'clock and found the horses hitched to 
the white-top buggy ready to take all the household 
to meeting. 

"Are we all ready?" he asked as he came into 
the house. 

"Just about," replied his wife who was putting the 
finishing touches to the baby's bonnet. "Here, hold 
him." She placed the baby in Glen's arms. The 
father somewhat awkwardly tossed him up and 

"Now be careful," admonished the mother, "don't 
muss his clothes up like that. Today is his first pub- 
lic appearance, you know." 

"Your coming out, eh?" he asked of the baby. 
"Well, we'll have to be good, won't we." 

This was in the front room. Thomas Strong sat, 
hat in hand, ready, while he smiled at the bear-like 
antics of the happy father- with his first baby. Then 
when the mother came in with hat on, the old man 
arose slowly, went to the organ and looked at a pho- 
tograph of Chester Lawrence, which had recently 
been framed and now held the place of honor on the 


organ. The Bishop, seeing the movement, lifted the 
baby to the picture. 

"I beheve there is a resemblance," he remarked. 
The old man only smiled. 

Hugh Elston now drove up to the door. The 
young mother climbed into the front seat, and then 
was given the baby. Grandpa Elston took a back 
seat by Thomas Strong, while the Bishop sat by his 
wife to drive. Then they were off. 

''Did I tell you," said Mr. Strong to his com- 
panion, "that I got a letter from my brother last 

''No; you did not." 

"Well, he's been recently to London and visiting 
with Elder Malby. It seems he can't keep away 
from that man, and I must say Elder Malby is a 
wonder. Such a spirit he has with him — " 

"The missionary spirit, Brother Strong — the spirit 
of the Lord." 

"Yes, yes," mused the man — "strange — and he 
but a hard-working farmer — I wouldn't be surprised 
if Brother Gilbert came to America and out west 
here. He intimated as much in his letter. Poor 
brother, he also has suffered." 

"If he comes, give him our invitation to visit 
with us." 

"Thank you, that I shall." 

"Perhaps he will accompany Elder Malby when 
he is released." 

"Invite them both," said the other. "We shall 
all like to see them very much." 


There was a brief silence, as the horses trotted 
along. Thomas Strong's gaze roved across the Flat 
to the mountains, then rested again on his com- 
panion. Presently, he said : 

"Brother Elston, the other day you were speaking 
of vicarious-work for the dead, 'temple work' you 
called it. I understand the doctrine of baptism for 
the dead, but some other things are not quite plain — 
for instance, having the dead married, made husband 
and wife, which they would have been had they lived 
and had the chance — well, you understand." 

Yes; Hugh Elston understood, and made his ex- 
planations to his companion, who listened attentively 
and exclaimed at its close : 

"I am so glad — for Chester's and Lucy's sake — 
so glad !" \ 

' In goOH' time they arrived at the meeting house. 
The Bishop busied himself with the business before 
him. The good people of the ward came in. ex- 
changed the usual greetings, then found seats. There 
were flowers on the sacrament table as usual, and 
the meeting house looked sweet and clean — a fit 
place in which to worship the Lord. 

The opening hymn in which the congregation 
joined was : 

"God moves in a mysterious way, 

His wonders to perform ; 
He plants his footsteps in the sea, 

And rides upon the storm." 


At the close of the song, Thomas Strong nodded 
his head and whispered, "Amen." 

Then after prayer and the sacrament, the Bishop 
announced, ''All mothers who have babies to be 
blessed will please bring them forward, and all who 
were baptized yesterday will kindly take their places 
on the front seat." 

Julia, with rosy face, bore her baby to the front, 
followed by another mother with less timidity. A 
little girl tip-toed along the aisle, and a boy, "just 
turned eight" trod heavily forward. Then Thomas 
Strong also arose, and silently took his place on the 
front seat alongside the mothers with the babies and 
the children. 

The sun shone through the uncurtained window 
and lay as a broad strip of light along the front seat. 
The little boy was nervously twitching his feet, the 
little girl's hands were folded serenely, the babies 
cooed. The white-haired man sat with tlie children, 
now one with them and of them in very deed. His 
face was as a child's, as was indeed his heart. The 
meeting was still, silenced by the strange, solemn 
occasion. Then the Bishop, assisted by his coun- 
selors and Patriarch Hugh Elston laid their hands 
on the three who had been baptized in water for the 
remission of sins and now bestowed on them the 
Holy Ghost. Then the ofificiating Elders came to 
the mothers. 

"Brother Elston," said the Bishop, "bless the 

Hugh Elston took Julia's baby into his arms, 


where he lay cooing into the men's faces as they 
gathered around. The Patriarch, in slow, carefully 
chosen words, gave the babe its name and a blessing : 

^'Chester Lawrence — for this is the name by which 
you shall be known among the children of men — " 

There was a moment's pause in the blessing. 
Thomas Strong glanced up to the men, then looked 
at Julia in surprise. 

"Oh," said he softly, "my boy's name shall live — 
Thank God." 





Llate Liue 

OCT 4 1979 




JAw'i 'aat 

FEB 1 6 im 

SEP i W36 






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